


All Over Again

by rngrdead



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rngrdead/pseuds/rngrdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saving both of them had a bizarre set of implications – not least of which was the chance to start again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> M/M relations (way later) and human boys (for now)
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are the concept of the wonderful Joss and Co. Don’t make money from the writing etc etc.

He felt himself lifted easily and relaxed onto a soft warm surface, opening his eyes enough to realize it was an ample bosom. Without thought, he began to mouth the surface under him, only to have his efforts redirected and a further adjustment made to his position.

A large hand pressed an enormous nipple dripping milk into his mouth. After a baulked start and minor fuss he latched on. It was body temperature, sweet and salty at once and… almost like blood. 

There was cooing and rocking and he was *so* full that when he finally gave up the prize and was summarily hoisted over a shoulder to have his back rubbed, he embarrassingly burped up a little of his meal, whimpered some and was enveloped in those arms again. How could any chap be expected to stay awake after all that...

“There’s my good Billie boy… shhh… ahh my dear one… that’s it… shhhh…” The rocking continued, it was all too much to comprehend, so he slept.

Spike was in and out for the entire day. 

He was aware enough to realize that his fists were in soft cotton pouches for reasons he could not fathom and that his body simply would not obey his mind. When he tried, he managed to get his arms to flail a little, but for some reason struggled to hold his head up when it was not supported, and there was apparently no *way* he was able to sit up. 

When he tried to express his frustration, there was only crying available, garnering more feeding, having his nether regions ‘checked and changed’, and if he continued, a series of different individuals lifting him and walking with various measures of rocking, patting or jiggling, around the room until he calmed.

Further efforts to communicate an hour or two on were similarly treated, though smiling at the large set of blue eyes and lovely smelling person, seemed to garner a delighted reaction. Reaching for a brightly colored object suspended over his sleeping space seemed important though rolling over onto his stomach did not include the ability to roll back apparently, and led to embarrassed snuffling and eventual a cry for help. After which he was calmed then congratulated for his efforts with rocking, statements of 'There's my clever boy!' and more feeding... And there *had* to be something in that milk... he just could not stay awake!

He came to as the enormous wad of stuff between his legs (frustrating but necessary as it seemed his body had its own timetable regards relieving itself) was removed, and *G#$* didn’t it feel good when everything was finally taken away, even though it apparently signaled being lowered into the warm bath. Initial panic gave way to the happy knowledge that his head was (thankfully) suspended above water. He instinctively kicked, then relaxed into the delightful weightlessness, and wriggled with pleasure as his nether regions were gently sponged down toward the end of the experience. 

Rubbed down with a towel, powdered and pampered, he even tried to suck on the finger of the pretty female as she wrapped him tightly in the thick white towel and carried him to another location, only to have his 'catchment area' covered, forehead kissed and (thankfully) hands left free.

By the end of the day Spike, ‘my little Billy’, still worried some. Everything was *such* an effort and he really did seem so very tired all the time. 

He realized his humanity but wondered at the reason. The last thing he knew was there was a dragon... and... The little boy yawned even at the thought and was pushed back onto the nipple he had forgotten about. The tiny blonde fed a little again but fell asleep mid suckle, was wrapped tight in a soft pale blue rug and lowered gently into the cot.

A slightly larger baby with a head of dark hair stirred enough for them both to register the presence of a familiar body and relax, after which two tiny month old boys settled and slept.

Half a world away, and a day later Willow was still stressed, “They really will be happy though? Giles this is a terrible…”

“You know as well as I that Spike insisted he help… and you know for a fact that Xander was…Willow, there is no cure for advanced AIDS and we *all* knew the prognosis when he came back…”

“But what are the guarantees – I mean…I had no idea that when we… Oh Giles!”

“Mistress Lydia will keep us informed. And they will be raised in a loving environment, nurtured and attended… and though it is only a couple of days on, from all accounts they do seem to be healthy *human* baby boys… Admittedly they will have all their original adult memories but surely that is an acceptable price… Really my dear, we could do no more.”  
Part 2

Of all those killed that night, Spike had cried the most for Angel, they had just begun to reconcile and now... 

In the end Spike and Illyria were the only two and the demons just kept coming. Lying in the pouring rain, covered in demon filth, he still crawled to the spot near the dragon carcass and smeared the filthy water that he knew contained the dust of his Grandsire onto his face. He thought he heard the ‘next wave’ so forewent his desire to grieve and curl into feotal position as he knew another needed his help. 

The ‘halfling’ Illyria thought of as a mere Pet, had voluntarily stood in front of her as the hoards approached knowing full well she was the stronger of the two of them, yet he defended her. So now, as a Wolfram and Hart ‘disposal’ truck backed its way ‘bleeping’ up the alley to dispose of the embarrassing evidence of the night’s altercation, she observed him as he continued to bleed from a gaping stomach wound and rubbed a little more of Angel’s ‘mud’ on his face.

Spike knew he was mere minutes from dust but managed to lift his filth covered face to look at the Old One in her petite blue guise, “Please (!) make it worthwhile! Let *something* good come of… this.” 

 

Generally disdainful of the majority of humanity, Illyria cocked her head, then seemed to decide something. 

She lifted the broken form of her ally, “I do not understand your chivalry but yours is a gesture that should not go ignored. I shall return to the country of the Battle Brand where you say you began as a human and find the one you referred to as ‘Red’. The good you speak of is linked to her.” 

Sadly Spike failed to hear the speech, feel the preternaturally strong hand put necessary pressure on his major wound, nor see the flash that finished the remaining demons and transferred them both to a coven in England. 

That evening, as the blonde vampire lay bandaged in the coven infirmary alongside a second dying figure and fed blood direct to his stomach to keep him from dust, Illyria was in conference with the elders of the coven. 

Though her time on the current Earthly realm was limited, she was still extremely surprised by the solemn respect, deference, and gratitude shown her. She was offered food and rest, then assistance in her determination to return to permanent slumber with the other old ones.

She quickly ascertained that the one the vampire spoke of as ‘Red’ was both wise and powerful (though her habit of speaking too quickly when excited was somewhat irritating). However, she did seem to have an ability for magic unsurpassed by others in the realm. 

High Mistress Willow could feel the other being’s power – everyone could!

“Who is the second in this room? He too is connected to you?”

The young nurse-come-wiccan tending Xander moved aside, and Willow stroked the forehead of the (thankfully) now sleeping Xander. “Yes… He is a hero and my best friend from childhood, a friend of Spike… um the halfling’s, too. 

“They fought together? They were allies?”

“They lived together. Spike saved his good eye…”

“From an agent of the First. Yes, I remember that story. The vampire was most articulate, if somewhat random, in his thoughts as we sparred. I now understand. What is wrong with the human? He does not smell correct.”

“He is dying of a terrible virus AIDS - it... affects humans. He was helping those who had the same affliction when he contracted it.”

“The best of humanity has an apparent death wish which is difficult to fathom and unfortunate. But I admire his willingness for sacrifice – I would want such a one in my army." Illyria touched the inert foot then looked genuinely concerned, "You have feelings for both of these beings - but mostly for this one you call Xander. You are powerful. Can you not solve his various bodily concerns alone?"

“M… G… Illyria, there is nothing we can do now. He contracted it and continued to help others until…Human ways have no cure and there is no other...”

Illyria rounded the bed and stood with her hand on the too pale, marred forehead, “He carries other spirits, not as old as I, but strong. Is it not wrong that these two beings in the room – and their carried demons - should die without accolade, without reward?? The blonde one attempted to shield me though he was the lesser being. He displayed great valour and was loyal in ways I have struggled to understand. You speak of other battles, and I note that… this Xander… has also been marred by his efforts, though again did it willingly and without thought for himself.?”

Willow watched desperately as another bag of blood was attached to Spike’s feeding tube and the nurse boosted Xander’s morphine to close to lethal limits. “He… he was so brave… Mistress Illyria… I um… he was a mere human but has spent his short life… saving… the world and we just didn't know and now...”

“In exchange for your willingness to assist me, I will assist your friend but all will be lost if I do not have the vampire to agree to your friend’s survival.”

Spike barely understood the question from the pretty blue being, but enough that *someone* of their number might survive, so without the power of speech (courtesy of the feeding tube) he nodded, and hoped Illyria understood the ‘thank you’ in his eyes before he closed them against the pain.  
……………….

Post Sunnydale averting the apocalypse, Xander had gone to Africa as he had always jokingly threatened. Ebola and marauding hippos be damned, there were hundreds of children orphaned by AIDS and plenty of organizations who could use his help. His building skills were very much appreciated, naturally jovial nature a godsend, plus his Hellmouth upbringing was truly a plus as not only human but demon families were affected. 

Sadly two years on, his own situation mirrored that of his charges. He worked on at the refugee centre and kept to himself and his symptoms hidden. 

There were nights when he had cried in pain as an unwilling oesophagus convulsed against an ulcer that no one could see and he didn’t truly understand but just knew was there. He endured desperate leg cramps as his body struggled against a silent aggressor, but put it down to lack of salt. And the weight loss was attributed to his near vegetarian diet and lack of appetite... and repeated rounds of dysentery and possibly worms not helping! 

Eventually he had walked to his friend Gerard, the refugee camp’s wonderful French born doctor when unaccountable bruises began emerge, and a too thin hip bone began to ache even though cushioned by a (admittedly hard*ish*) mattress and prevented sleep. The pained look on Gerard’s face as he reported the blood tests said it all. 

By the time he was on the plane to London, he weighed in at just on forty nine kilos and needed help to ascend the steps. Willow had met him with something he knew to be a horrified gasp at the airport as he was wheeled through the ‘green door’ at customs by a fellow aid worker, who burst into tears as Xander greeted Willow weakly, then fled.

……….

The ‘White Hat’ from Sunnydale, the one eyed good natured man, accepted that his unprotected liaison with Eunice, his fellow aid worker was from Mozambique, had condemned him. They had sought comfort amongst desperation amongst spiders and other crawling night creatures, and exchanged fluids. 

The noble nurse and mother of two surviving children, never realised her terminal legacy for the jovial, kind American friend. Ironically, before he knew he was sick, her children were orphaned, not by the disease but an incident that saw the car she was travelling in fall victim to a target happy youngster with a rocket launcher… He had left the children all the money he could when his own illness drove him to England, the Grandmother was grateful, and the dying friend cried with the girls and kind carer for a woman that spent her life devoted to others.

Being ill seemed to make everything raw, admissible, exposed. He admitted all to Willow but also mused that it was ironic. 

The boy that had stared down the mighty Angelus; lost an eye to a preternaturally strong Caleb; revived a Slayer; and complained of lack of ‘non demon’ female companions, had contracted his own killer in the most pedestrian (and time-old) ways, and had signed his own death sentence as a by-product of the first world - third world split that saw more orphans produced in a year than the entire population of Australia and New Zealand combined.

He remembered reflecting that the demon community of Sunnydale (or anywhere) had nothing on humans as he watched yet another emaciated child die crying soundlessly with her desperate mother begging staff for drugs that, he knew, though willingly donated, were never coming, likely to have been sold for ‘favours’ five hundred kilometres away at the port. 

He had never prayed so much as in that place, appealing to every deity he knew that worming tablets, antibiotics, morphine (!) might somehow arrive to the same establishment, if only that a lethal dose could ease the way of a tiny girl whose missing lower leg (courtesy of a mine), that was festering and slowly bleeding out, might have her way eased. There was no dignity in death.

Six months on he had put the continued fevers and dry cough down to the heat or a mosquito borne illness. He threw himself into working for the greater good, as he always had, but in his heart he knew something was not right. 

It was easy to put all thoughts when one found oneself the project manager with a seemingly endless stream of well meaning volunteers to build houses for local grandmothers who took in not only their own but also the three neighbours’ remaining children. The local communities nominated the worthy recipients and Xander worked on. 

Two years later, he continued to build sturdy beds for the hospital, his co-worker and ‘lean to building mate’ Raoul worried. 

Xander remembered the afternoon. He had felt ill all day but continued working, and all it had taken was the lovely Gerard, the long suffering, war weiry, doctor from Toulouse saying, ‘Xander are you OK? Raoul said you were…’ before all went black. 

He remembered nothing of the ensuing three days and as his only family contact listed was Willow, he was air lifted to a military airport, transferred in Cairo and transported to the UK… 'for treatment'.

Willow had taken the urgent call, and four days later, was the one to accept the wheelchair containing her desperately ill friend at Heathrow. His passage through Customs and Immigration was eased by the mere fact that he was incapacitated, dying, and carried papers that indicated he was an Aid worker for the Red Cross… and was ‘being collected’.

That evening, as he was loaded into the back of a specialized taxi, and quietly thanked Willow again, he had tried to very hard to give a 'Sunnydale' smile, though when his old friend turned away and pulled a tissue from her pocket he assumed that even that had been a futile attempt.

Willow's warm hand held love and desperate concern but there was… so he tried to smile again. 

Swallowing hurt and he was *so* thirsty but also wanted to apologise to Willow, yet a dry tongue and mouth prevented it. He knew the lesions were unsightly, and did manage to stem a tear before accepting the water bottle produced by one of Willow’s acolytes. The prick in his arm was everything… and he silently thanked the nurse for 'blissful black'. 

A month later – and despite western drugs and palliative care, his tongue was ulcerated, drinking water hurt, and he just wished he could be more chipper for Willow’s daily visit. 

In the last week, when he had the energy, he had taken to pulling out the various tubes and monitors, only to have attentive professionals on their third night shift in a row, come running. His dying logic was impeccable really – there were many others in Africa who needed the medicine more than he and… He kept trying to explain that! 

But his state of health determined it. His fate was no longer within his control…and he was just so tired all the time… 

So he sent prayers to various deities for ‘those who needed it more’; tried to smile when the children of the resident wiccan’s tried to cheer him with music (though one had to wonder how *very* tone deaf their conductor might be to tolerate the din!?); and patted the rather portly, elderly labrador dog as it was led through the infirmary as a 'comfort pet' for some reason Xander could not really be bothered with.

……..

It hadn’t been so strange really. That day, the day of their miraculous change, Xander had opened his eyes to an old friend, or enemy, in the bed beside him. He heard the discussion, the vampire whom he assumed dead(er) had once again played hero and was now mere minutes from dust. Glazed blue/yellow eyes were staring at the ceiling while the limp body was stitched, bound and had a feeding tube inserted. No one deserved that, and he sent a silent prayer that Spike was at least now, beyond pain and would, wherever he ‘went’, find love and peace. 

The chanting began, and Illyria delivered her promise, blasting the room with energy, and included the ill human friend in the spell, as his own prayer for clemency for Spike was caught up in the mix. The two male humans would be given a second chance, and Illyria the peace she so craved. 

Seconds after the blast Illyria was gone, and two tiny baby boys were lifted from the beds that so recently held their damaged adult forms.

Xander’s first new conscious thought was how very comforting it was to be wrapped tight and to feel another body similarly bound, along side. 

………………….

A year on as Willow’s fellow wiccans celebrated the Summer Solstice, the Senior Mistress was driven to tears as she sat presiding over a communal dinner. A tiny dark haired boy pulled himself up, stood triumphant then toddled three steps to be caught in the arms of his delighted, adoring, adoptive mother. 

Willow knew there could have been no better choice for mother of the boys. The wiccan was still heavy to the point of pain with milk, when the two were changed. 

Mistress Charlotte was in the adjoining room of the infirmary resting the day Illyria arrived with Spike. The wiccan had tragically lost her own two day old boy to a catastrophic aneurism, but a day and a half before. 

The attending paramedics could do nothing for the newly named Justin, the post mortem scan was conclusive, and the distraught mother had only just managed to stand for the ceremony as her dear life partner, Trent, himself in tears, lowered a coffin barely larger than a shoebox into the tiny grave. 

Trent was one of only four men at the coven. A quiet and serious scholar with warm aura and even warmer hug. His energy was part of the group that boosted Illyria’s power. And as soon as the rather extraordinary power abated and the evidence seen, had begged the High Mistress Willow that his Charlotte be allowed to feed them.

And so it was that a tearful Charlotte, nourished first the dark haired, pretty Alexander, then her resident cuddler,‘little Billie’. And later that evening, both parents had embraced their existing daughter and joined the coven members and their natural born daughter Blanche as they blessed the boys and fixed their naming day.

.........

The boys were turning one soon and Charlotte’s first born, Blanche, was the quintessential dark haired older sister to ‘the boys’ - bossy, protective, magically gifted, and, at six and three quarters (!), and without a fault, one of the best motherly types in the coven. Indeed Charlotte sometimes wondered who *was* the mother in the room!

Willow smiled at the pint sized redhead as the budding wiccan held little Billie fast whilst his brother walked from Charlotte toward a very proud Trent. By colouring he could well have been Alexander’s biological parent and certainly rejoiced in his role. 

Alex’s brother by adoption watched on, knowing that he had mastered ambulation on two legs some month earlier and, despite wanting to talk to Willow, gave in to his own current limitations and giggled as Blanche taunted her blonde adoptive brother lovingly by rubbing his favourite soft toy bear against an exposed tummy. Minutes later his outstretched arms were rewarded by the capturing of the prize and a warm hug in a sweet smelling young girl’s arms.

 

The boys were lucky but Willow had not forgotten Illyria’s statement before she vaporized into blue smoke. The body was new, but the soul and the memories would be those of her old friend(s). It was ‘necessary’ and she worried what that might mean.

In the beginning Willow had spoken to them as adults, explained that it was part of the agreement… part of the plan. They were being ‘rewarded’, given a second chance for their efforts to help the ‘greater good’. There was no error in that it was to occur in an out of the way, rural locale, protected by wards and distant from any major demon activity (though some would argue so many witches living on a pretty old estate in Berkshire, England, could attract its own set of problems), as the two were legendary in the demon realm and still carried magical signatures that might prove problematic.

But it didn’t take long, and there were only a few more ‘one way conversations’. Observing two little figures sucking on toys, crying with a new tooth, and grinning wildly as peek-a-boo was finally understood, and she began to genuinely forget their heritage.

For two little boys their greatest hazards seemed to be that they were surrounded by more oestrogen, motherly love and hugs than the average human garnered in a lifetime. 

In their lucid ‘adult’ moments, both Xander and Spike reached for each other wondering at their fate. The trouble was still growing bodies that would not cooperate by speaking and other issues like the gentle care and simple amusement, food on demand, and the loving attentions of sixteen coven women in addition to their new parents and sister, that distracted.

They were also privy to being flung joyfully into the air by very strong hands, had tummies ‘rumbled’ by a mouth attached to a rough chin, and between sleeps on one occasion were perambulated to a spot by water after which tiny hands were encouraged to wrap around what Spike knew vaguely from his adult memories to be a fishing rod. Neither of them had experienced that the ‘first time around’.

Alexander tried to listen to the adult conversation as another little body squirmed in front of him and strong thighs held them both safely. The male he now knew as Papa, was worried by his compatriots wriggling, and the fishing rod was placed aside as a consequence. Finally, several sets of female hands rescued him as he too began to fuss, word free in an effort to indicate his hunger. 

They were bathed and fed a vitamised combination of pumpkin and… Alexander really didn’t care, he was a pudding man and would down *anything* to get to the apple and semolina at the end of the meal! Spike was the fussy eater at the best of times, and had been ill with a fever three times in the last two months. Consequently, and through no fault of his own, Billie was smaller, lighter and was breast fed more often than he ate solids.

The coven was soon to host the annual Solstice meeting of all the witches of the British Isles, but the message from Giles on screen was clear. The two in their care were living out a prophesy. But surely these two had paid enough! And how was the coven to have known? How could two little boys ever…?

She observed the happy fishing party returning from their afternoon in the sun, hit delete then text messaged Giles. 

Prophesies, after all, were always open to interpretation. 

Part 3

Alexander only had a bottle in the evening these days, strangely proud to be congratulated as the ‘big boy’, and now even an older brother to the family’s newest addition - Poppie, but his adult memories of Africa kept returning as his blonde brother by circumstance continued to have health ‘concerns’. 

Three nights in a row Billie had been crying and unable to sleep with stomach pains and vomiting… again. As soon as the two had begun eating solids the trouble had started. William had constant, terrible nappy rash and tried not to cry when a new nappy was gently eased back on. Luckily living where they were he sometimes got away with delightedly toddling around in the garden and playing nappy free… (though there was that one incident with the ant bite on his tiny willy!) 

But lately it had become more than that. It seemed that the nights of pain (for worried parents and Spike) were becoming more frequent. An exuberant Xander was often left in the care of his big sister while his mother took William to the children’s ward at the hospital yet again. 

Blanche was generally OK but it was not always a pleasant experience and she tended to smack him on the leg then ‘tell’, for dragging one of her favourite dolls through the mud… But even the adult Xander was confused, it was only a *little* bit of mud, and the doll washed… where was the harm?! 

His Charlotte and Trent had both been to hospital with Billie this time, Charlotte needing to nurse the new little one and Trent too distraught to drive, they had called an ambulance. This time it was serious and Xander had cried, he remembered seeing the vampire doing as similar thing when the chip fired badly and knew there must be so much pain. Little Spike had a virus that caused a fever high enough to result in a full convulsive fit, after which he had passed out completely. All the healers in the coven had come at a sprint but hospital was really the only option – if only to confirm the reason.

Really, little could be done for the fit or his other ailments – which also accounted for the susceptibility to every cold or flu that came along until the results of yet more tests came through. So Xander cried again and was pulled up into the arms of his wonderful adoptive father as he returned from the shops with Blanche and one of the wiccan acolytes, his toddler and adult mind shocked by the scene of a tiny blonde boy lying listlessly in his extremely worried mother’s arms, being encouraged to ingest a rather nasty herbal remedy. The little boy whimpered but finally took the mixture then tried to suck at a bottle of warm camomile tea to wash away the horrid taste. 

African memories of sick children mixed with an injured, self sacrificing Sunnydale vampire and the desperate illness of his own all returned as he observed his brother by default coughing back some of the fluid then crying quietly as his mother rocked him.

Trent took him from the room as the little brunette continued to cry, and distracted him by sitting him in his lap to watch Thomas the Tank Engine, episode… who cared… *yet again*. Adult Xander didn’t miss the cup of tea delivered, or the worried conversation and words of encouragement from the other wiccans. Xander rolled over and cuddled the broad chest as best he could manage just as ‘George’ tried to outrun the trusty Thomas and the fat controller had to step in. He loved that part, but his dad was sad because his brother was sick and, well, a cuddle was really all he could do.

Less than a day later the coven knew, William was wheat and lactose intolerant, and needed to be monitored carefully for the emergence of other allergies as he grew, they still could not pinpoint the reason for his extreme sensitivity to light, though Willow suspected as his vampire memories saw him reflexively cry in fear if exposed to sunlight unprotected. His preference for a liquid diet – and eating red things – she also had her suspicions about.

In contrast, just on twenty two months, the only health issues Xander had had were a few falls and new teeth arriving - requiring cuddles and bandaids for the former and anaesthetic gel and paracetamol for the latter… always particularly grateful when large strong arms lifted him and a deep voice comforted. Inevitably then there was rubbing and rocking until he felt better and able to join his brother again.

Spike did wonder if his illness was part of payback for his vampire days… and though the memories were tending to fade, they still haunted his dreams sometimes. But his biggest bother as Spike’s older memories wafted in and out was his terrible trouble with toilet training. He simply could not seem to predict his needs enough in advance… and gave in to tears more than once at the humiliation of having to stay in a full nappy rather than the ‘pull-up’ training pants of Xander’s. 

The doctor had explained to his parents that it would ‘even out’ once his diet was sorted out and he was well again. The aware adult Spike understood on some level but he really couldn’t help but cry when, yet again, his bowels seemed to release of their own accord, or yet another stream of warmth was added to the now hefty wad of damp padding between his legs. It all seemed to ‘come out’ of its own accord, often meaning sitting in his own ‘doings’ until someone realized his efforts to tug at the top of his tiny pants, or cry whilst trying to say ‘Poos’ to a nearby big person. 

Billie/Spike’s only compensation in all the illness and toddler trials, was that he was still allowed the breast on demand – and seemed like it would be almost all he could eat until things settled. He did know, however, not to plant his sharp new teeth into the source of lovingly given liquid. The warmth and the semi prone position was a joyful one, and he always tried to stroke the soft skin and cuddle… But sometimes she tricked him when he fed, and he would wake up a bit confused next to the *huge* dark brown teddy bear in his bed, having lost several hours of his day! The nice part was that sometimes it was his brother-by-adoption not teddy and the cuddles were real.

 

It took several months to truly work out a diet that worked, but as Billie improved he played more and truly began to love the existence - even if running often involved a nasty tumble, or things that he would have liked to play with were put just that much too high. 

Their second name day was celebrated in fine style with gluten free everything – finger food for small people – lovely platter of fresh fruit – with an emphasis on strawberries and all things red! Little vegetable pies made with gluten free flour, rice crackers, and tiny dry roast potatoes that were all mushy inside and presented on a plate in the form of a pyramid.

The cake was in the shape of a large Thomas the Tank Engine – but Billie knew that he was not to eat the icing, and his inner Spike was actually quite relieved – ingesting that much blue sugar stuff could not be good for *anyone*, but Xander was in his element! 

The party was a big afternoon for the two as all the coven children and several local friends were invited. Billie did do the best at blowing out the candles, though rather disgraced himself late in the proceedings when Blanche would not let him have the ‘dangerous’ toy car left lying on the ground by one of the older children, putting it just out of reach. The inner Spike was incensed! He just wanted to look and *really* could not understand why it was so upsetting, but gave in to his frustration and two year old sensibilities, and threw ‘a wobbly’. 

He screamed and tried to get his message across by throwing himself to the floor and kicking as hard as he could as he yelled – and that felt *good* for a while, until he realized that no adult was taking a scrap of notice, so resorted to out and out howling, at which point Trent firmly but kindly, picked him up off the floor and put him to bed. There was no mother, so no ‘booby’, but the firm arms around him and stern but kind words were strangely calming, and he had slept through the departure of all the other guests.

At two and a bit Alexander could throw a ball and was able to connect a bat to ball if thrown slowly enough. Old memories were amused and thrilled when a hard hat and toy toolset were presented to him by a friend of Trent’s, and everything… but *everything* went ‘Brrummmm’.

His best days were when he was allowed to collect the chicken eggs from the coop and follow one or other wiccan around pulling an ancient old ‘trailer’. They gave him the important task of taking the full trolley of herbs or vegetables – or both - back to the house, and the highlight was *always* if Willow was there – she was at the coven less and less of late. 

Alexander was always the most enthusiastic in the bath, and would remain in the toy infested waters splashing and blowing bubbles long after William had begged to depart in favour of the fluffy towel. There were many comments of admiration from his carers alluding to his future in water sports of any description – even synchronized swimming or deep sea diving were mentioned after discovered the delightful pastime of plunging to the bottom of the bath and holding his breath for what seemed an age.

The adult Xander remembered his love of water, and ability to swim so clearly that it really came very naturally, and his most fun was in summer when Trent took the boys (and a few taggers on) to a nearby town with ‘children friendly swimming centre’. One of the other male wiccans was a wonderful swimmer and took Alexander on his back as he did breaststroke up and down the pool then dived like a dolphin and came up again causing the adult Xander inside to join with his little self in whoops of delight; the feeling of being thrown from one strong pair of arms to land in the water to be caught safely in the hands of another, equally thrilling. His only frustration that despite how hard he tried the best he could do was kick enthusiastically, or manage a very inefficient dogpaddle.

Alexander might have outgrown William by height and weight, and had physical skills very different to William’s own, (and was most definitely the male coven members favourite), but the pint sized blonde had it all when it came to getting what he wanted from any wiccan at the coven (or human visitor it seemed). 

He was an expert at hugging, and sought the altitude and warm arms by putting arms up and levelling begging baby blue eyes at his hapless helpers. They were then rewarded with a blonde head on a friendly shoulder, little arms and legs holding on tight at any opportunity. And, if tired, the sweet boy would simply relax, quite happy to be adjusted a little and stay on a hip as the adults went about their business. 

William picked up language at an extraordinary rate, had a remarkable memory and quirky habit of naming people that was entirely charming… “Sexy Anna” – Charlotte’s best friend at the coven; “Nanna Ella” who was a lovely buxom woman at the small grocer’s in the village; “Will-like-me” after High Mistress Willow compared their names; and “Big Paula” for one of the wiccans who regularly minded the boys when their parents were busy (why she was noted as ‘big’ exactly no one was quite sure of – she was really quite petite!). By two and a half he also used the phrase “Ah Pet!” when exasperated with someone, which was really was quite amusing and made Willow wonder again just how much of her old friends were really just ‘playing them’ inside their now pint sized beings.

The odd part was that above all the boys seemed a perfect complement to each other and that they were easing more and more into their old personalities – albeit human and pint sized versions. One thing was abundantly clear, they were both budding wiccans with noble traits carried over from their previous life. 

At just approaching three, Little William was heard to growl when a young boy from an adjoining farm tried to take his tiny sister Poppie’s favourite toy rabbit when they were at the shops. Twice ‘her Billie’s’ height, Charlotte watched in amazement as the pint sized blonde (only just now weaned for good) followed the growl with a “No!” then grabbed back the toy and stared down the other boy. 

Alexander was similarly inclined – even defending Blanche on two occasions, or more truthfully standing at her back in solidarity then going to get an adult when things led to tears (girl fights were *so* confusing!)

And as for the two together – well, *no one* touched one without the other intervening in defence.

Two days after their third birthday, Willow’s cross referencing of the prophesy (assisted by Giles and three learned ex Watchers) finally came off. An extraordinary meeting of the whole coven was called immediately – strangely involving the two children whose future was the only topic on the agenda.  
Part 4

 

William and Alexander were confused and just a little miffed. 

The other coven youngsters (including their older sister and even Poppie!) were led off to enjoy an impromptu picnic at the bottom of the coven grounds, but they were ushered into a room in the main coven building that was always closed to them before and was full of all the senior members of the coven. 

Facing an enormous table, they were lifted up onto very big dining chairs with arms for safety and extra cushions for the boost. Even so William could barely see over the lip of the oak piece, and certainly could not make out the faces of those sitting opposite. He held the arms of his huge chair tight and his inner Spike mumbled a nervous “Bollocks” and the little boy appreciated the kind touch of his mother’s hand followed by a kiss to the top of his head, as she too settled nervously.

Xander fared a little better view wise, managed to catch a drawn looking Willow’s eye and gave her an innocent wide eyed child’s smile. He then spied an elderly man sitting next to her conferring quietly with Clarence and dropped his gaze. Clarence was a senior wiccan who Xander usually gave a wide berth as she always seemed grumpy and had said very audibly, on several occasions, that ‘children are a ridiculous idea when our world is dying’. As Xander’s father patted his arm and told him ‘it was going to be OK’, he suddenly remembered the man opposite from his ‘before’. Giles smiled sadly at him as the wide eyed youngster began to stare again and Xander’s old memories of ‘war meetings’ with the Scoobies came flooding back. This had to be bad.

The meeting started all very formally a Blessing was invoked for all present and the boys were greeted as ‘special guests’.

Mistress Willow spoke to the agenda first, “We are here to discuss what we believe to be the most accurate translation, and interpretation of the prophesy regarding our two young coven members William and Alexander.” Willow smiled kindly at the two wide eyed little boys.

“Most of you know their history at this safe haven, though few of you might realise their status prior to their ‘second chance’, nor why… how it occurred. So… I think it is important that we give everyone a brief overview.” With that, Willow placed a pile of documents in the middle of the table and the older coven members each took one before the High Mistress began again, “I would go through all of this but there are a couple of key points in each biography that I think you should note. Please don’t bother taking this in the Minutes."

By the time the greetings were over and the previous meeting’s actions had been reported on in brief, the two boys had slumped back into their chairs unhappily, wanting desperately to struggle down and join the other children outside but knowing instinctively that their parents would disapprove if they fidgeted too much. 

Alexander picked at the tassels on his cushion and felt a little better when his father put a kind hand on his upper back and began to rub lovingly. His inner Xander began to listen again as the exploits of his previous self were summarized for the group, but in the end he just concentrated on the warm hand and the calm it engendered. 

Will drew patterns on his cushion and let things go on around him as the meeting began. He was genuinely thankful for Charlotte’s kind touch as he saw his brother comforted also. He patted her hand as Charlotte sighed heavily with worry, then, like his adoptive brother, began to listen actively, and with increasing distress, as his past life was 'dot pointed' for the audience.

Both boys had settled so well into their new lives of late that it was rare for old memories and selves to take prime position in their psyches. But as battles, losses, triumphs and despair was articulate everything flooded in again both began to sob uncontrollably, reached for their parents and, despite their weaning (in Xander’s case over a year earlier!) both boys took turns to accept mother’s breast milk. The prize was meant for Poppie, but Charlotte knew, the boys needed it more for the moment.

As Charlotte put her pinky into the corner of her ‘right side feeder’, the now calm William’s mouth and released the suction, she realized, with not a small measure of shock and annoyance, the meeting had continued with little regard to her boys! 

Wide ranging debate had occurred around the table regards ‘vampire with a soul’ and ‘ghost made real’; ‘Senior partners and ‘the Aurelians’; Scoobies, apocalypses; good works in Africa and chip/dechipping; demon and spirit additions to a human soul; and various other things that Charlotte and Trent (now cradling quietly crying children) preferred not to hear. 

Both parents knew their sons’ histories on an academic level, but the daily reality was *so* different, and their dear little boys were so much a part of their lives now that it was nearly impossible to think of them otherwise… and yet today… Trent had pulled Xander into a tight hug, and Charlotte had repositioned William so he too was enclosed in protective arms.

Giles did not miss the innocent, tearful wide blue and brown eyes levelled on him from the two boys ensconced safely in their adoptive parents’ arms as he began to reveal the contents of the prophesy. Both boys hugged their parents tight as the old reinstated Watcher/Wiccan Elder began to speak.

“The two blessed each other and will be restored as an ancient One returns. The Tentacled One will require the magical pair as her champions upon their manhood, and in return will restore their full spiritual and demon essence to strengthen and enhance. 

“Mystical powers will lean heavily upon them across eons as two are joined as one, in life and unlife, their souls, spirits, essences and love shared. With magicks and memories combined, theirs is the task to unite white and black so Gaia may once again find peace.”

At the end of Giles’ speech, William sat bolt upright in his mother’s arm and his inner Spike spoke the next perfectly articulated words, “*Bloody Hell*! Can’t a couple o’ heroes rest in peace… Just for once?!” The tiny blonde then passed out into an openly crying Charlotte’s arms, as the dear wiccan sobbed, “Please don’t take my boys… *Please* you can’t take the boys!”

In the end, there was no argument. 

The boys were to be warded and protected, trained and tutored in magic and fighting, and in amongst everything, live as much of a ‘normal’ childhood and adolescence as anyone might manage in a coven in Berkshire, England.

The distraught Trent and Charlotte and thier two charges were ushered to their semidetached house on the south side of the main Coven's wall by an exhausted looking Mistress Willow and her pretty blonde partner, Livvy. 

Kind hands bathed the boys, tended Blanche and Poppie and settled all the children before feeding the two distressed adults. Home made leek and potato soup, several stiff drinks then talking late into the night quelled the most immediate fears but did little to stem Charlotte's distress. She had lost one boy already... it didn't matter when or how, but she was *not* going to lose two more!

In the end Trent calmed his beautiful partner... They would have many years to come with their boys, but the prophesy was clear, Will and Alex were destined to ‘be’ together (whatever that meant); would have their demons restored sometime as they matured; and would act as Mother Earth’s champions.

Charlotte had cried herself to sleep hours ago, but Trent stood between the boys’ beds. Two tiny figures, his boys, his dear, dear boys! They had already suffered so much… that had been unequivocally detailed in the meeting… and yet now!!?? Now they were to be burdened, tortured, set apart all over again! Why??? 

He could still hear Charlotte’s hitched breath, even as she slept and left the boys’ room for a moment, to check on his dear partner and then Blanche who seemed to have picked up on the family’s distress and was crying in her sleep. He brushed away the red locks from his eldest’s brow then kissed her… and something shifted in his thinking. If this was about family and together, then destiny would have it so, and their boys would know just how wonderful it was to be loved and *belong* regardless of what else happened.

 

Two weeks later…

 

Tonight was to be a fortieth birthday party of their adoptive parents, a relief of sorts after all the worry regards the implications of the prophesy. It seemed the whole community was invited - village, coven and friends of old. Blanche had been given the task of dressing herself and the two three year olds. A task she took most seriously.

The boys’ adoptive parents were born on the same day in the same hour. Astrologers the world over would have cringed at the prospect, but anyone could see, Trent and Charlotte were two parts of a whole. Trent’s long strawberry blonde dreadlocks and Charlotte’s chocolate curls (with just a hint of grey these days) were often seen mixed together as the two sat on the huge garden swing for a few hours of a Friday evening (their night ‘off’), and when Charlotte was upset, Trent was her ‘rock’ and vice versa. Their aura, when combined, was a glorious deep aqua and purple with occasional flashes of all the other colours of the rainbow.

The dreadlocks had come since the coven – though prior to that Trent’s pretty gold tresses had fallen in a ponytail, all the way to his backside, indeed in their courting months as they rode through Europe on push bikes, the two had been honked and whistled at from behind – the assumption that they were two girls on bicycles, until Trent’s goatee was spotted!

The guests varied from old university friends, to Trent’s mother and step father, from all the families (bar one) off neighbouring farms, to the village greengrocer and her same sex partner, ‘Nanna Ella’. The marquee was set up, heater installed and masses of hand made ‘finger food’ prepared as the old coven oven worked overtime. An industrial sized pot of home made vegetable soup and mountain of freshly baked Turkish pide was the triumph of the cold night and the wine flowed freely.

Poppie was put to bed after the first hour, but Will, Alexander and Blanche managed to greet all of the guests at the door, though Blanche became increasingly annoyed as her brothers garnered all the attention. She had worn a sensible pair of jeans and pretty, very fashionable, aqua long sleeved top that one of the young coven members had bought her in London earlier that month. She had her hair braided properly by ‘Big Paula’ and had tiny aqua/clear plastic butterflies all through her dark red tresses. Really it was only her Aunt Susan who complimented the tall ten year old on her “lovely outfit… and sophisticated hair”, asked her about school, and pressed a package into her hands with a wink and conspiratorial, “Just a few things for your scrap booking, you said sea theme at the moment, right? Don’t let the boys see.” Blanche knew that would be no problem, her brothers, were too busy stealing the show.

Alexander had insisted on wearing an embroidered white and gold matador’s shirt that he found in the dress up box, along with a broad yellow tie (circa 1975), blue jeans and his little yellow gumboots (well… they matched the tie!). While Will went all out, insisting on his pink and diamante, buckle up ‘party shoes’ (a donation from six year old Emma on the adjoining farm), a set of tiny stripy purple thermals (top and bottom) – and gold lame halter neck top which hung to his knees (found in the dress-up box).

Every new arrival grinned and complimented Will on his shoes to which he replied proudly that they were ‘only for parties’(!), and Alexander had so many comments on his tie that he began to hold it out just a little, when greeting new guests. 

There were so many children of all ages at the event that the two little boys lost track of time and where their parents were. 

They began by trying to run after the big children, but the two three year old boys eventually retreated to the children’s play room where two of the younger wiccans had set up a number of areas for the ‘pre schoolers’: A wooden train set complete with farm animals, face painting and dress- ups, and some finger painting plus a huge vat of bubble mixture right near the window so the bubbles could waft outside. There was also a mattress with numerous soft toys and plush blankets in a special ‘tent’ in the corner ready for any younger visitors who needed to snooze. 

A few older siblings came in over the evening though generally preferred the room next door, temporarily converted into a video/computer room and Alexander found a a wonderful big fifteen year old boy who ‘challenged him to a sword fight with sticks and seemed *very* bad at it, letting his little combatant hit him repeatedly! The inner Xander kept screaming ‘*rigged fight*’ but his three year old persona simply bounced with delight, then was thrilled as he was hoisted onto his fellow fighter’s shoulders and walked around the party ‘up on high’ for a time. 

Will, on the other hand, became tired early. He had missed his afternoon sleep in all the excitement – Alexander, as usual, fell asleep effortlessly around midday as soon as he lay down on the old couch with his Panda. The others were playing and Alexander was off with the big boys, so Will wandered out to the adult marquee. There were knees and feet and lots of noise, and he squeezed through as best he could.

The people holding glasses and food and talking were nice and smiled at him, but he really wanted a cuddle. Finally he recognized the brown denim covered legs of ‘Sexy Anna’, put his arms up and was lifted into a warm hug.

Will made sure to hug Anna properly before sitting up a little in the strong arms, pointing at the platter of fruit on the drinks table, and saying in his best ‘polite’ voice “Strawbie??” He was rewarded with two, both so big he had to eat them in several bites. He was settled onto Anna’s hip for a time, then passed to Papa Nanna (Trent’s mother) who always smelled of violets and found him some of his special vanilla rice milk which he drank dutifully. Papa Nanna eventually handed him on to his Aunt Susan who found him another strawberry, and he grinned at his brother who he spied on some big boy’s shoulders following another mob of bigger children. But eventually Susan picked up the signs as a little head relaxed on her shoulder, the arms started to go limp and tiny body became heavy. 

By the time his father took him inside, Will was all but asleep and barely registered the soft covers of his parents’ bed or the bunny rug being tucked around him. It was quiet and the room smelled of family. He could hear Poppie snuffle a little in her bassinette, wondered if there would be candles and singing later, then relaxed completely as his father rubbed his back before he…

Charlotte smiled as she delivered an overtired and crying Alexander onto the bed less than an hour later. Her ‘little Billie’ stirred enough to snuggle up to his brother, Alexander calmed instantly, flung a small arm over the blonde’s torso and promptly fell asleep. 

A lumpy blue blanket, Will’s pink party shoes and Alexander’s Thomas the Tank Engine sock-clad feet were all that was visible to departing guests who passed a partially open bedroom door. An exhausted Charlotte and slightly tipsy Trent joined the boys on the bed eventually, not bothering to disturb the cosy pair. The parents smiled across at each other and thanked the Powers for the wonderful evening and asked Gaia to bless their family once more. Charlotte’s last thoughts were of the prophesy, followed by worrying for her biological children, her beautiful girls. If the prophesy was true then the coven would need to prepare *all* her children. 

In the moonlight flooding their bed, Trent noted the slight frown on his partner’s pretty visage. The next decade or two would be a challenge but every parent knew that… they just had, well, one or two extra challenges to face with the boys.

He sought out her hand and squeezed before both let sleep take them.  
Part 5

The local village school was a ‘community school’ populated by children of the village, the coven and the surrounding farms and country retreat estates of the resident yippies (upwardly mobile new age folk from London who procreated late, caused an upgrade in the few village food stores, renovated old houses, and imported their wine).

Consequently Alexander and William had a lovely time – always calling their teachers by their first names, were well treated, had many friends and numerous examples of their art work adorning the ancient fridge in the communal coven kitchen (and theirs at home!). 

They began their magical studies the day after their eighth name day as was custom but knew to keep that knowledge strictly ‘family’ business.

By the time they entered high school, Blanche was leaving the Coven to live ‘in digs’ at her University of choice, Oxford. Her passion for History and ability as a writer in both English and French seeing her through her secondary studies with marks in the top half a percent of the UK. Her teachers all encouraged her to take Law, but she had been single minded in her quest to become a sociologist/archaeologist. She had been school Vice Captain and organized just about all the final year social and service events.

High School was a very different matter for her brothers. 

Like their sister and the majority of their peers at the coven, Will and Alex went to the comprehensive school in nearby Caversham doing well initially, but both struggling to fit in, particularly at age fifteen in their third year, as their ‘differences’ were noted and challenged. Not that they didn’t do well, or have friends, but there were that 'other' group…

Fifteen year old William was sitting outside the Head’s office… yet again!! He pressed the icepack against his damaged cheek with his right hand, struggling not to wince, and contemplated explaining all this and yet *another* pair of broken reading glasses. 

His assailant was leering at him from the opposite chair and kept mouthing ‘Die Goth’ and ‘Loser Emo!’ making ridiculous gestures of a knife cutting his wrist and sticking his tongue out in a poor impression of the seventies band Kiss, despite the boy’s father being present. Indeed the large man with arms folded across his chest and legs spread wide seemed almost to endorse his son’s behaviour.

Will knew that his wiccan training meant he could give the boy an incurable and very unsightly case of facial acne – or even genital warts at a push – but also knew that their mother Charlotte would be very angry, or worse, Papa Trent would be disappointed. It was bad enough that he had been in a fight.

As he drew the ice away from his badly bruised cheek, and tried to remind himself, he was better than the loser bully on the other side of the waiting room anyway, the boy had no idea by how much. A far older memory bubbled to the top and his inner Spike growled but he restrained the urge to articulate it. 

In his new life he had done Karate for seven years – the only reason he wasn’t a black belt was that “You have to be sixteen”, according to Sensei Richard. He had been studying at that level five times a week for almost eighteen months and was undisputedly the best fifteen year old fighter in the county – and southern England as of a month previously, fast, clever, and dedicated… But at school, his parents had ordered all their children they were not to use *any* of their special skills when in confrontations (and how he *wished* Hogwarts was real!)… except for one, he was allowed to run, and he was a champion at that, sprinting short distances as easily as he out ran just about anyone over the mile, any distance appeared effortless.

Sadly, at fifteen, William still seemed to attract trouble, and to some extent so did Alexander, but this altercation was about another student. The lug opposite had been picking on a seventh grader, a quiet, rather withdrawn twelve year old, Josh, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Somehow it had come out that Josh had same sex parents, attempted to verbally defend them, and things went down from there. With lunch money gone and a rock thrown at the hapless youth, Will had stepped in. He regretted that Alex was away in London at Crystal Palace that day with the school county swim team, otherwise he would have stood with his brother in solidarity, these days they were usually inseparable.

William had stood his ground in front of the frightened younger boy, literally growling “Stay down ‘til I say then run!” as the mob of senior boys levelled for an attack. In the end he had used every *defensive* move he knew from sparring (and a couple of extras from older memories) to fend off the attackers, happy to note that in spite of forgetting to say ‘run’ at the height of the melee, Josh had crawled away unnoticed, then took off. 

Finally the biggest of the group, the ‘king’ bully, with the assistance of two of his ‘minions’, managed to hold him as the head bully rugby tackled Will to the ground and began hitting him in the head repeatedly. Will kneed the huge opponent where it hurt most, in a desperate act of self defence, causing the larger boy to curl up and whimper pitifully. Sadly it was the last part that was witnessed by the duty teacher – the assumption being that there were only ever two boys involved.

Will waited quietly as the other boy and his father were ushered into the Heads office after three of his ‘concerned friends’ exited. Each one making time to state in an undertone, “You are so F@#ed. You stupid little Goth!”

Ten minutes later the head bully and his father exited, Will’s unscathed opponent grinning, and mouthing repeatedly “Your F#$@ed Freak!”, and not failing to ‘accidentally’ kick the leg of Will’s chair on the way past just as Mistress Willow came into the waiting room. She levelled a withering stare at the boy who out weighed her by at least fifty or sixty kilos. The boy was about to mouth “Witchy Mama come t’ save ya”, but the woman’s eyes flashed black and the previously smug bully chose to scurry away, his nether regions inexplicably chilled and trying to re-enter his body.

Willow settled beside the obviously hurting, distressed William as they waited for the Head to see them and patted his knee reassuringly. “You OK honey?” 

William shrugged and really couldn’t look at her, but managed to mumble, “D’ya know? ‘Cause it was Josh?” 

“He called home from his mobile, honey. He escaped thanks to you and hid behind the Science building. Rachel and Carol are both on their way. They rang the coven… he said it was you…” Willow patted his leg again. “You did the right thing honey, I know what happened – well at least, what we could make out from his call.”

Despite the acknowledgement, Will looked up with the begging eyes of a truly pretty youth, “But…Papa… Trent! They won’t understand… I shouldn’t have fought… but there were six of them! And they were kicking and really trying to *hurt* him… Really *hurt* him! So I… Geez! I’m *not* sorry… but I… Willow... I really just wanted to…”

Willow took the boy’s hand then pulled him into a hug, whispering, “But you didn’t… Now… It’ll be OK honey.”

Will pulled away then looked up with begging eyes and Willow’s breath hitched as he simply said, “I hate this place Mistress… Please… Help me!” with tear filled blue eyes.

Willow could not help it, the older he got, the more like Spike, William seemed to become. 

The breaking voice might not have the resonance yet, but the stunning blue eyes, ever more defined cheeks, lithe form and deliberately messy dark blonde hair with its occasional blonde, red and black streaks matched an increasingly dark aura. Willow took an extra breath herself. She was Aunt Willow and this was William, hero to a fault, intelligent, a survivor, and Willow *knew* he still carried enough old memories to make killing a snap, but the transition to manhood this time around, as tortuous as it had been the first time.

Willow put on her best resolved face, smiled a little and tapped under Will’s chin (indicating he should walk proud!) before he stood as the Head, Mr Donovan’s door opened and they were ushered inside. 

The High Mistress was dressed in a classic corporate black long skirt suit, fashionable gold silk scarf and four inch heels. Her white hair was swept up in a turtleshell clasp, and with elegant silver and rose stone accessories and touting a muted gold, designer laptop bag, she looked for all the world like a corporate lawyer rather than the ‘wierdo hippie Aunt from the next door village’s commune’ as Mr Donovan had expected. 

Despite the Head standing, she waited for him then all others to settle before taking her seat, then settled herself whilst eyeing each calmly in turn. 

Apart from the Head of School, two other teachers were present - the duty teacher who had witnessed the ‘heinous crime against the rugby star’, and the Pastoral ‘Head of Year’, all felt just a little nervous facing a woman who seemed to exude power.

The Head of School began in a well practiced, rather patronising (though he would later argue ‘conciliatory’ tone), “In the absence of William’s parents, I do appreciate your time, Ms…Rosenberg, at such short notice. Though I am *very* glad you could be here, though am sorry it could not be under more pleasant circumstances. Please… take a seat.”

William slumped into his chair and stared at the bag of ice he still held in his right hand. He had lost the gold back of his favourite earring in the foray and *really* wanted to tell someone… or talk to Alex… or Blanche… or just get a hug from his Mum. His Mum would understand… so would his Dad if Willow spoke to him first. Will stemmed a tear… His cheek really did hurt! And the hole in his ear where the earring had been partly torn out was still bleeding a little.

Trent was in London with Xander at the South East swim championships, and he knew it was Poppie’s mid-winter performance, so mother was there. Consequently, at fifteen years of age, he *really* appreciated that Willow, so absent from the coven of late, had dropped *everything* and come to his defence when the call was taken at lunch. But, despite him knowing from the before that she was a friend and powerful and… he still wished for… his Mum and Papa Trent!

Willow picked up on the anguish and leant over to pat the boy’s hand, at the same time pulling a small laptop from her bag, positioning it carefully on the large oak table and staring hard at the Head, Mr Donovan.

The Head began with no more adieu, “As my assistant would have explained to you, there was a very serious incident here on campus this morning, one which involved William and one of our best Rugby forwards, Justin Mattherson. Our duty teacher Mr Davis here witnessed the final moments of William’s attack on the senior boy.”

Willow went to reply, but was cut off as the Head teacher continued. 

“It is both sad and atypical for a student with such an obviously outstanding academic record to also have the ‘track record’ of William here. It seems that despite his academic prowess in almost every subject thus far, and of course his running and music, he also seems to flaunt school rules and struggles to fit in. 

“Any consequences will of course be discussed with his parents post fact, but Ms Rosenberg, it seems that several uniform violations, our need to remind him regards his hair colour and length following ‘the break’, and William’s recent violent actions toward other students would indicate a definite trend toward defying our school policies and an attitude toward authority that is quite disturbing and best ‘nipped in the bud’ as it were. 

“I am well aware that boys will go through a rebellious stage, and do need to be brought into line for their own good, and that he is growing up in… [he cleared his throat] unusual family circumstances where being ‘different’ is encouraged… and although we do, of course, embrace ‘diversity’ [said with the inverted comma finger gestures that simply annoyed everyone!] here at the school, his current physical violence involving another student warrants stiff reprimand." 

Willow reached for William’s closest hand and squeezed gently, out of sight of his interviewers.

“I have spoken to several witnesses, including a number of the senior boys and the other chap involved, Justin, and will be suspending William for three days. After which there will be the necessary two week probationary period when we will consider his future at the school. It is not a fait à complie by any stretch of the imagination, but I would ask that you and his parents consider that he might be… better suited to… well… an alternative mode of schooling.”

Willow struggled to keep her eyes their innocent green rather than sliding to black, even so, her ‘resolve’ face and tone were not to be trifled with, and the Head of School found himself silenced by the petite wiccan as she sat forward, deliberately leaned her elbows on the wide desk that separated them, then began speaking whilst freezing the three staff members present with an icy stare. 

“I cannot speak to William’s breaches of your uniform code, but am really struggling to see how issues of hair and dress are compelling factors in the context of today’s ‘serious events’ nor the appropriateness of his remaining at the school. My nephew appears to have a badly damaged cheek which has had no more attention than some cursory examination by an unqualified staff member and some ice from the staffroom. And for your information, contrary to whatever reports you may have had, William was forced to defend himself against not one, but *many* assailants in order to protect another student, a student, who by the way, has had *no* support when bullying was reported *by his parents and teachers* on *three* previous occasions. 

“Our coven is adjacent the Harvey-Page’s property and we are well aware of the neighbours desperation as little if anything has been done to assist their son this year.

“Your duty teacher today was not in the area to observe any of the ‘beginnings’ was he Mr… Davis? Though I do understand that it is nigh on impossible to be everywhere at once when in the yard, what surprises me is the method of reporting, willingness to accept inaccuracies and untruths without all the facts, and the follow-up post incident. 

“It seems Mr Donovan, and colleagues, that with limited facts, and a focus on the sporting prowess of the older boy, the three of you have already decided that William here was the perpetrator of this ‘incident’. Did you think to ask the *real* victim of the piece? Do you even know that Josh Harvey-Page was able to call home *only after* he was saved from an angry mob of your senior students, headed up by your treasured rugby star? The same ‘star’ who had his older followers divest a twelve year old Josh of his lunch money by force, followed by taunting, pushing and punching him, and if I am not mistaken … not for the first time? Are you aware that Ms Harvey-Page felt compelled to pick up her son and have him examined by a doctor immediately following the call?

“What exactly *are* the school’s bullying policies Mr Donovan? I accept that William may have done the wrong thing in engaging in any fight but if he is to be punished for rescuing a younger student from such a mob, my question is, what is the school ethos and practices that it would allow such serious a situation to escalate over weeks to the point where it is up to a fifteen year old to defend a twelve year old friend against half the senior school?!”

The Head looked rather stunned, “That was not what we were led to… I hardly think that is the issue. Fighting is a serious matter…”

Willow stood, “I see.” The Mistress’ ire was up. She levelled near black eyes at the Pastoral head. Mr Johns, “Were William’s marks acceptable last semester?”

“Well, of course… um A…*A*s… well except Manual Arts… that’s a B minus…”

“And is he generally well behaved in class?” 

“Well yes… always!”

“And he participates in extra curricular activities – music and sport?”

“Ahhh… yes…”

“Hmmm, I will not excuse William for fighting, Mr Donovan, as it is something neither I nor his parents would agree with, however I suggest very strongly that you *reassess* the incident after speaking to the Rachel and Carol Garvey-Page who I know for a fact, are on the way to the school as we speak. Regardless I assume you *will* be suspending the other boy also.” 

The Head cringed a little at that, they needed Justin for the Friday match against Ealey Upper – a suspension would put him out of the team, but now it seemed there may be no choice, and it also meant another meeting with Robert Mattherson, former president of the school council and well know local businessman.

But Willow wasn’t about to let him off the hook, “I do insist that you have the teachers send home the work William is to miss and allow him to take any tests under my supervision. We will consider the future of William, his brother Alexander, and the twenty seven other children of our coven that attend here, after this matter has settled. And if we cannot be assured that our children are learning in a tolerant, safe, academically stimulating environment, I will be engaging a solicitor and contacting both the school Board and the Ministry of Education to explain the reason for so many students withdrawing at the one time.” 

The Head was still a little gobsmacked as the petite redhead stood, nodded politely to all present and without further adieu said, “Good. We understand each other. I will take William home with me now and leave you to resolve the rest. You can expect a call from Trent Theodore in the morning. As you are well aware, he is in London with Alexander at the Regional Swimming Finals.”

With that Willow swept out, William too miserable to even contemplate that she would have looked no less commanding if she had been six foot five and dressed in the new King’s full regalia. His inner Spike sulked, remembered all the times he had been in trouble in the other life and unlife, but thankful that Willow remained silent as he dejectedly pulled books from his locker then followed her to the car.

Charlotte was home and swiftly became extremely upset as Willow led William into the coven cottage that housed the family, but the Mistress intervened and began to explain as William skulked off to his and Alexander’s shared bedroom.

He grabbed his iPod, thrust his head phones, and flung himself face first onto his futon without bothering to push it out of ‘couch’ position’. Head under a large cushion, he flicked through his iTune selection and proceeded to play as much pained and angry music as loudly as he could whilst letting tears finally fall. His cheek hurt, his ear was throbbing and the only reason he hadn’t lost his favourite iron ball earring was that the blood had already dried around it when the back came off.

Charlotte came in some time later with a plate of home made tomato and basil soup, glass of water, plus wet warm face washer and jar of arnica cream.

She didn’t miss the slight tear and dirt scrapes on his grey pants and rip in his black sweat shirt, and heard the slight whimper as she lifted the pillow and eased the earphone out of an obviously damaged ear.

“C’mon sweetie… Willow said it’s been a long day…” That was all it took, William managing to get out a hitched, “Oh Mum… It wasn’t… I… just need a hug!” At which point Charlotte abandoned all intentions of tending the fifteen year old’s wounds, instead pulling him up and across her lap (with effort – he was just shy of her height, and weight!) until he leaned against her ample chest.

The boy, now crying hard into her shoulder, her sensitive Billie, always had a tough façade for all looking on, yet was blindingly intelligent, thoughtful, genuinely courageous for all the right reasons, and had a magical aura matching any of the best wiccans in the coven. Yet she worried for him. And not just about the prophesy that had hung over all their heads for so long. 

It seemed that what made William great could also destroy him so easily. He sought approval, and seemed to think little of his own safety or value his own triumphs be they sporting, magical, musical or academic. She hugged him tighter and whispered, “I know what you did, my Billie… Willow told me… it was very brave… and it’ll be OK… Just… Shhhhhh… C’mon… Shhhh.”

Eventually she did bathe and tend his wounds with gentle strokes, and waited while he ate his soup. Placing the water on the bedside table, she kissed the now prone boy, handed him back his music and said, “Alex and Papa will be home soon. I’ll talk to Trent… and you are not to worry OK?”

Later, as William lay in the dark listening to an old tune, The Fray’s ‘How to save a life’ just one more time, his father entered. Instead of the ‘disappointed’ speech he expected, however, Trent simply sat on the side of the bed in the wan light from the hallway as William pulled out one ear phone. “I can’t say you did the wrong thing by fighting this time, son. Did you hurt them? The other boys?” 

William answered in a still tear roughened voice, “No, not really. Well except for his balls.”

“You did well then. Josh’s mums rang just after we got home… I know about school and understand why they suspended you. But you did the right thing.” Trent simply squeezed William’s arm, then pulled the young man into a hug as William stemmed back tears – this time of relief.

That night Alexander spooned his still hurting and somewhat upset brother from behind for the first time in years, then as an afterthought kissed the back of his head before they both relaxed into sleep. There would be plenty of time to show his brother his three gold medals in the morning.  
Part 6

By the last few months of their school years, the boys were both on the cusp of eighteen, increasingly physically and emotionally different, and yet strangely more drawn to each other than they had ever been.

Xander was the Captain of both Swimming and Water Polo teams, played average drums and was a little lost regards his real ‘focus’ for the future. Old memories recognised the feelings of uncertainty post high school, the difference now was that he had been supported, encouraged and helped at home whenever he doubted in this life.

He struggled a little at school, but unlike his now vague Sunnydale memories, he always went home to a loving *very* extended family. His little sister Poppie flipped her hair and whined that he didn’t let her meet any of his ‘hot’ swimming friends; his older sister visited occasionally and berated him for pining after yet another impossibly unattainable girl at school or his exhaustion after taking yet more work at the pool; his father consistently involved him in any of his woodwork or repair projects for home or coven; and his mother still encouraged and helped with homework – especially the English essays and the compulsory book studies that his brother always seemed to find so easy. And then, of course, there was Will, his companion in so much, his brother, his best friend..

William was the part of Alexander’s new life that he simply could not reconcile with old memories. He wondered how it was that they were apparently not so close in the ‘before’ – of course academically he knew the history, but emotionally he just could not fathom a time when they were denied each others’ company. 

He had contemplated his orientation on a couple of occasions, but when he ‘did some heavy petting’ with one of the Parker girls after the party to celebrate their Swim season triumph, he figured it was just lack of experience causing the doubt.

Alexander had a matching earring to William’s, several in fact as they tended to split the pairs, though had refrained from joining his brother in the eyebrow piercing of a month ago. He occasionally played drums for Will’s band but really wasn’t committed enough to music to be bothered with the hours of practice required to become really good. And unlike Will, he tended toward the ‘hippie’ side of the family regards day to day clothes - pastel colours, loose, comfortable clothes and more often than not, a pair of brown work boots and (if cold) a rainbow coloured woven hemp jacket and matching beanie.

The two boys had resolved to get matching tattoos for their eighteenth birthday and their parents had finally agreed. A youngish wiccan from New Zealand (and trained tattoo artist) coloured their flesh adorning their upper right arms with a bold warrior band in traditional Maori style. He did point out that one usually adorned the face as well but neither boy was keen on that.

He grinned over at William who was in the chair being ‘inked’ pleased to see that his brother too was wincing a little. Alexander's had already been done... beautifully.

William was something altogether different to Alexander, where the brunette was outdoorsy and laughed easily, the blonde brother preferred the shadows, was ‘intense’ and rather shy. 

William was now a First Dan in Karate and wore black rather than white. He was “Sensei William” these days to the Under 12s and was still training for his own pleasure, though Sensei Richard had passed him on to a far more senior Sensei Heng for tuition. Heng was a stickler for technique and despite William’s ‘other’ history and Heng’s sixty plus years, was still managed to out-spar William, annoying the boy enough that the blonde threw himself into training ever more enthusiastically. Heng was also Ninjitsu and Taekwondo trained, and calmly explained the differences and introduced William to new skills. 

Will took his skills home, occasionally trained with the larger, physically stronger Alexander in the old shed where a punching bag and home gym had been installed for both the boys (and the use of others in the coven). Alex always ended up on his back somehow, and the lighter William throwing him a hand, hauling him up and laughing before instructing Alex further amidst protests of “I’m a swimmer not a fighter, gimme a break!”

Where Alexander wore colours, William wore black. Alex’s hair was unruly and dark silver due to chlorine, Will’s was curly and short but for his eyebrow length fringe, and it was near white (or black, blue or burgundy – depending on his mood). Casually, he wore predominantly black whenever possible – including his ‘Docs’, though did have several shirts in classic rich colours that lifted the look. 

Despite being surprisingly shy, he nearly always had a girl on his arm though nothing was serious. 

And when he turned up to the senior school formal in a classic French style eighteenth century long coat, pressed military style high trousers, and an open white frilled shirt with blue crystal buttons that matched his eyes, several of the girls literally swooned.

He was a gifted student of literature and language, though in truth a better playwright than poet. His attempts at verse were gradually being absorbed into his love of the guitar and writing songs, though Charlotte often bewailed the fact that he spent more time composing music on the computer, or playing than actually doing "...anything of value" when in his room.

Neither of Charlotte’s boys were what could be described as mainstream popular, but both had sets of friends outside school and, to Willow’s genuine surprise, both had excelled at their magical studies from the very beginning – though as they approached maturity, something strange was beginning to occur with their auras. She worried a little but said nothing.

Eighteenth birthdays came and went without incident - well there was that rather drunken party and the accidental, rather embarrassing (later) but satisfying, ‘mutual jacking off’ in the darkened area behind the barn at some stage during the night – but hey!

Drivers licenses were obtained (with Trent’s strict instruction and practice regime), they both did well enough to be admitted to University and their parents, and the coven continued to worry. The Prophesy had said “manhood” for their changes and challenges, but that could mean anything. 

Charlotte was quietly pleased when William chose Reading University, his preference like Alex’s, to be at home and share the commute to the same institution as his brother – though studying in a different faculty of course. 

That summer, Trent and the boys did up an ancient stone outhouse at the rear of the family cottage, making it into a fine bachelor pad. Though relatively small it was complete with fireplace, thirty foot pitched roof and mezzanine floor bedrooms at either end of the building, all general living areas on the ground floor. They had a shower and toilet, and tiny kitchen with microwave and bar fridge – but most nights still ate inside with family. It was really the best of both worlds, independent, but… well one just didn’t move away from Charlotte’s home baked sourdough bread, baked dinners and self saucing puddings in *too* much of a hurry!

Alexander had chosen to pursue a teaching degree, appropriately with a specialty in Junior school Physical Education, and assisted his resume by working as a swim/gym coach and volunteering for an outdoor adventure group providing experiences for ‘troubled’ children. He also continued to make increasingly more beautiful and complex furniture with Trent’s encouragement (and guidance). 

He was tall, obviously an athlete and seemed capable of wearing a minimum of clothing in any weather. He did continue his magical studies but really went to the study group at the coven for the company of the other wiccans. He only ever sparred occasionally with William, nearly always lost, and would brush himself off good naturedly claiming he was a lover not a fighter to which Will would inevitably reply “good luck with Mrs Palmer and her five daughters then”. They both knew that Alex sadly continuing to have little luck in the love department, as he seemed to be targeted by girls who simply wanted to ‘make my boyfriend jealous’ when at a party, or were older than he and happy to have a handsome bed-buddy for the night, with the strict ‘no strings attached’ making the whole thing a purely physical act. 

The last two encounters had ended in disaster as he was unable to perform, Alex realised that the female liaisons were not particularly his thing and at twenty two, confided in his brother that he was really attracted to the male form, “So what does that make me?” to which Will answered, with a knowing grin, “Alexander you twonk! Thank the gods you finally figured it. You been checkin’ my ass out for years! Whaddya worried about anyway, find a nice lookin’ bloke, have a bit of a snog, shag ‘im even… see if it works for you. Who the F#$% gives a toss which way you’re bread’s buttered these days! Half my bloody Arts course is experimentin’, and the Law guys are just beggin for a spanking – by either gender! Anyway you’re still the best lookin’ guy in your Uni cohort – and they’re PE teachers!” 

After which a rather red faced, somewhat aroused, Alexander received a semi-passionate kiss from his brother-by-circumstance, and was almost too stunned to hear the sincerely delivered follow up line, “Welcome to the club.”

Even though it was only Tuesday, that night they went out for a few drinks to a nightclub of William’s choosing, and Alexander learned a) just how *not* alone he was with the whole same sex "thing"; b) his brother was truly one of the most attractive looking men he had ever seen; and c) his brother was a better kisser, and dancer, than anyone else he met that evening. Alexander looked over at Spike as the cab took them home around 3am and wondered. The prophesy had said they were to join and be together for all time – but until now he had not contemplated that they might ‘join’ literally. Technically it would not be incest would it? And he already loved him deeply as a brother… 

William slapped him on the knee to “Stop [Alex] brooding you sod…” and the brunette smiled a little, the idea of ‘joining’ sometime down the track was strangely unworrying, what should have been was his yearning for William’s lips on his again. 

He shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat and the rest of the trip home was spent staring out the car window, contemplating some of his older self’s memories of Spike, and particularly of the feelings of respect and friendship in their last days before Spike destroyed the Hellmouth in an act of self sacrifice. He let a single tear escape as he remembered his own grief after the event – grief that very much included Spike – and realised just how much like the original his brother had become.

 

The (at the moment) near white blonde William had naturally gravitated toward drama and literature, yet all his teachers at school and many members of the coven encouraged him to do Law. In the end he took their advice – despite far too many memories of Wolfam and Hart, though insisted on pursuing a double degree with “Arts” specializing in Literature – French Poets of the late 1900s as his honours thesis topic. He passed with First Class Honours in the latter was the darling of all the lecturers in the Arts faculty and offered a PhD position “as soon as you like”.

On the other hand he had struggled with the internal culture of the Law faculty, not particularly fitting the old school tie, up and comer profile, but nevertheless, managed to pass tenth in the cohort with second class honours and was swiftly taken on for his Articles by a small law firm dealing with mostly domestic/personal issues. Sadly, as he told his brother, the work was “deadly boring – worse than…” at which point Alexander would always intone “A research meeting with Giles!” and they would both laugh a little. Old and new memories were always mixed these days.

William shifted in his chair and pushed his John Lenin style glasses up his nose again wondering why it was, that in every human life he seemed to end up working in a traditional profession, bored, and in a suit – albeit a trendy tie-less one this time, yet still in a company where "groovy casual clothes Friday" still saw him cautioned re his eyebrow ring, and advised kindly to modify his black on black ‘rocker-look’ for future Fridays as it would ‘put the clients off’.

There was one more month to go, then he would be a fully qualified lawyer and officially cut loose from the company that had so kindly agreed to use his natural talent for law (and extraordinary knowledge base of nearly two hundred years), for a pittance over the last year. Unlike his peers, however, he was unworried by the money or the prospect that he had no intention of staying on even if offered a place. 

He really just wanted to write for a living, had been publishing articles in a variety of low key magazines, and on the web. He also had two scripts (WIPs) being critiqued by notable playwrights and could supplement his income by taking occasional contract work in law, teaching karate and playing guitar on weekends for a couple of professional bands he was involved in… His parents didn’t mind – just wanting to see him happy. He was successful, according to the outside world, and excelled at his magical studies also, but in himself really still felt like he was missing… something…

 

As Poppie’s twenty first birthday party approached, Blanche visited the boys one evening at their converted barn to discuss some of the arrangements. Their younger sister was to arrive home only a day before and Blanche was determined everything would be ready for the celebration.

Poppie had decided against University in England (much to her mother’s dismay) and had taken off to Nice, to study language, continuing her magical studies with a French coven. And for the last two summers she had travelled with the coven to do charity work in Sub-Saharan Africa. She was voluptuous, outgoing and though practical like her mother, tended to be a ‘party girl’, and Alexander worried about her daily… his old memories knowing only too well that nothing was to be taken lightly if working in the harshest parts of Africa. Poppie knew virtually nothing of Alexander’s older memories but was quite moved when he cautioned her sensibly and hugged her hard at the end of her visit to the family just prior to her second trip.

William grinned across the ‘Alex built’ polished oak table catching his brother’s eye as Blanche (as bossy and beautiful as ever) barely sat down before listing off what needed to be done “*Before tomorrow afternoon*” then added “I assume neither of you have scheduled work for the next two days?!”

In the end William couldn’t help it, he winked at Alex as Blanche continued to allocate jobs to them, pass out copies of the guest list, plus a list of people willing to help on the evening, etc etc. The two men snuck around the table and dived on their sister, pulling her off her chair and into a three way hug, all finally collapsing onto a fortunately close beanbag in one big laughing heap - well the boys were laughing, Blanche humphed her disapproval and surprise then began to giggle too. 

She loved her brothers dearly. Particularly appreciating them in her thirtieth year after the end of her disastrous marriage to Political Science lecturer – “and all around wanker”, as William insisted on prefacing his name. ‘Wanker Dougal’ left her for a first year student of his who was exactly half his age after a four year marriage that saw their sister becoming increasingly more down trodden. Apparently her ‘ten years her senior man’ and she were never to have children in the current political climate, but managed to impregnate his new girlfriend within their first month together and apparently preferred the ‘challenge of moulding someone’ new in order find himself.

She had called William on his mobile late one night in complete distress as the man who had convinced her she was “Less than I deserve” had left her high and dry with a mortgage, broken heart and broken dreams, and a few healed bruises as the boys would find out later. Which was something that resulted in a slow developing, persistent case of genital warts for their sister’s estranged assailant. ‘Wanker Dougal’.

Will had handed the phone to Alexander who kept her talking while his brother drove to London at close to land speed record time, making it to her place only ten minutes after his brother hung up from the ‘heart to heart’. Blanche had been hugged firmly by the leather clad William then ordered into the car for ‘a Blanched weekend at the barn’.

Her husband-soon-not-to-be seemed to have missed the memo regards Blanche’s younger brother being a rather *good* solicitor and one who – if unsure of anything – had plenty of lawyer friends to call upon. 

In the end W.D. paid costs and then some. Despite their prenuptial agreement keeping their assets separate (at his insistence), their parting still saw him attempt to gain possession of their shared home by claiming he had contributed fifty percent to the household. An attempt that was scuttled when it was revealed that Blanche had been meticulous in her record keeping and had paid *every* bill and the mortgage – and indeed said building was purchased by her in her name prior to their nuptials. 

Interestingly, the period of the plaintiffs’ claim that he ‘paid his half’ (of which there were no trackable records anywhere), also happened to coincide with the man garnering several thousand pound a month renting out his own London property – records of which were established. Strangely, it was a sum that never seemed to have featured in his last three tax returns by courtesy of (unbeknownst to Blanche), him identifying himself as ‘living alone’ in his owner occupied property, having been ‘estranged’. (And Blanche would be ever grateful for Willow and William’s combined efforts at finding *that* tit bit of information).

After ambushing their sister with the hug, the two men settled them all in front of the open fire and genuinely assisted. This party would not be one that Charlotte or Trent need worry about, particularly as Trent had very recently had a health scare with his heart and was still on a fairly hefty ‘anti-stress’ regime. 

Party all planned, Blanche caught up with the latest from her twenty four year old brothers. Alexander loved teaching ‘littlies’ and had just finished his 18 month contract with a local school and was hoping to garner a permanent position for the new school year, and William had just begun a contract with the syndicated local paper writing a legal advice column (and various other pieces). The stories would appear in eight county newspapers and though the pay was not as good as in the law profession, it gave him flexibility. He still did work for his old boss and found the rest of his time taken up instructing, playing guitar and trying to write.

What Blanche hadn’t missed was the calm ease with which her brothers interacted these days, finishing each other’s stories and giving the occasional reassuring touch, or friendly punch. She felt a surprising pang of jealousy as one man seemed to unconsciously anticipate the needs of the other. Blanche knew the prophesy, they all did, but this… new level of closeness seemed to reflect the coming together of the two, perhaps indicating that the day of reckoning approached. She worried but kept her thoughts to herself as the three plotted ‘the best twenty first ever!’

 

Indeed Poppie’s night was a triumph. The guest of honour was in fine form and dressed (just for amusement) in full traditional festival costume from Gabon – complete with colourful head wrap. Everything went to plan and a relieved Charlotte hugged her eldest daughter soundly midway through the night as the two washed up yet another several dozen glasses and side plates. “It was the boys too Mum…”

“I know honey… and I’ll be doing the same as soon as I find them.”

“Are they, you know… ??”

Charlotte wasn’t quite sure where the conversation was going, but family protected family so bit the ‘bullet’ so to speak, “Oh sweetie, they’ve both ‘come out’ to us, though neither seems to have found the right one… not like me and… Speak of the devil!” A grinning, grey haired Trent sidled up behind his lovely partner and hugged her soft frame before spinning her leaning her a little, and kissing her Hollywood style.

Blanche rolled her eyes in an act of mock disdain, before flicking the tea towel she was holding, over her shoulder picking up a stack of glasses to return to the tent and quipping, “Ohh… Get a room!” as she left her two amorous sixty-something parents.

The speeches were made, candles lit and blown out, song sung and cake cut, and finally Poppie began to open the presents that had overflowed the small card table.  
She had asked that the guests forgo her gifts in preference to donating to an NGO charity, but most did both.

A few of her closest friends from the coven in France and from home sat with her as she unwrapped a pretty jade necklet, set of bright thermal underwear, and ‘cheese board and knife’. 

A still somewhat sober William leaned up against the door frame, beer in hand and smiled as his sister opened her sibling’s present, a marginally tipsy Alexander sidled up behind just in time to see the reaction. 

Poppie tore open the huge brown paper wrapped piece last only to find a framed original charcoal sketch from the Lord of the Rings film shoot. The elven retreat of Rivendel, was depicted by an artist working for WETA in New Zealand in early 2003, and was accompanied by a beautifully scribed card in William’s copperplate perfect hand and a rather official legal document promising “henceforth, and until their death or incapacitation, two percent of any moneys your siblings earn will be donated to third world charities in your name.” It was enough for another round of hugs. 

Charlotte and Trent had given her their present early in the day - enough money to buy a scooter or pay for another few trips home… So now they watched on with the crowd as Poppie pulled delicate rice paper from the second last present.

Revealed, was a small wooden chest of exquisite Indian design – complete with tiny brass hinges and handles, and a brass key so small she was sure it was made for faeries originally.

The music still blared from speakers pointing into the garden, but there was sudden silence in the marquee as Poppie inserted the key, turned it and lifted the lid.

Will’s inner Spike suddenly panicked, Willow and Alexander too, rushed forward, but it was Charlotte who was there first, catching her daughter mere seconds after she inhaled the dust that erupted from the box, began to convulse then tipped back in a dead faint.

It was a more than sober end to the party and distraught guests were assured that they would be informed of Poppie’s progress as she was loaded into the back of the ambulance.

Hours later, they stood numbly in their parents’ kitchen, hugging mugs of tea, having returned from the hospital where they had witnessed their sister having a breathing tube inserted and bloodstream filled with various life saving substances. Both her brothers had seen it all before and the prognosis was not good.

The coven had been convened for the morning, and a worried Trent ushered the High Mistress Willow into the room just as a blinding flash of blue energy burst from the wall just behind where William and Alexander were standing. William had just enough time to think ‘Bloody Hell’ before he and his brother were pulled through the dimensional rift. The already distraught onlookers simply stood in stunned silence as a small puff of black smoke emerged from the place the blast had come.

Alexander, Xander, woke with a strange itch all over his body, nudged the body next to him then opened his eyes. He was on the floor of a small gilded cage held by the tentacle of a huge multi armed blue demon. William wasn’t moving and looked extra pale.

His last thoughts before he passed out again - “This is *so* not of the good.”  
PART 7

Alexander came to, knowing at a visceral level that he was Alexander, and Xander, and two new things hyena and soldier.

In this dimension his ancient animal spirit and lost ghost of a soldier now mixed with a re-injection of original memories plus his consciousness of twenty four years of new life. The ancient spirit and soldier essence had been preserved and waiting for the moment of fulfilling the prophesy and the manifestation went beyond thought. 

Hardly registering that his skin was covered by a light coat of dappled fur, or that he seemed to be temporarily blind in one eye and could feel his canines extended beyond his other teeth, he looked over at the still figure of his brother with concern. The soldier took over for a moment and a fur covered hand reached out and pressed into the neck of the body next to him seeking a pulse. 

The consciousness of the human Alex kicked in immediately and moved to test again, before blind panic set in. His hyena senses smelt death, the soldier and the man confirmed it. The old Xander assessed the still body with dismay, sadness and a good measure of denial before the new, gestalt Alexander began to grieve in earnest. No matter his makeup, the news was devastating.

William was dead.

He couldn’t seem to breathe or think or… William was *dead*! 

Alexander flung himself across the body and began to cry, then howl, and in an act that was as swift as any vampire might produce promptly sat up, pulled the inert figure across his lap, buried his face in his dead brother’s hair, rocking and keening and lost all track of time. 

Still rocking and uncaring of his own circumstances, he eventually accepted the prompting of an insistent friend, or someone (?) and took what he thought was the tip of a drink bottle into his mouth. In a state of utter distress, he didn’t question and thankfully drank the salty sweet liquid, though he was aware enough for a moment to wonder at the taste, the strange thought “Breast milk?” occurred before he passed out with the effects of grief, dimensional travel and her juices.

William too was fed. Her frond pressed past the pale limp lips of the now (once again) vampire and pushed directly into his stomach, and with her juices came… other changes. 

She had no control over the reintegration of their former spirits or the manifestation of the same in her dimension. She watched as the Aurelian demon took William and his face oscillated between human and vampire, but was satisfied that her juices had ensured that the two former humans would retain their souls and provide other advantages. Illyria worried a little, but chose to wait. In earth time it would have been days but her juices speeded the transformation and mere hours later the one called William fell into game face and unconsciously sought out the throat of his now slightly furry companion. 

She monitored the bite and was pleased to note the reciprocal seeking of blood by the ancient hyena spirit. It was true then, she had seen glimpses of their lives together already, pleased that her ascension had resulted in happiness for the lower beings and confident that there would be a full joining within hours.

It was necessary that the champions’ strengths were combined completely if she was to return to the earthly realm and find her true mate. It was the final part of her bargain and The Powers had agreed. Her champions would be theirs when she had back what was rightfully hers – and by retrieving her consort, in a strange way would save the earth from a virus so much worse than AIDS or Black Death, as to make any human pandemic to date look like the attempts of a ten year old with a pea shooter versus an intercontinental nuclear missile launch.

Her Old One partner had been released by her acolytes a thousand years previous to her own liberation, but his essence contained in ash was intercepted for some reason now lost to history and he had been condemned to the role of ‘religious relic’, to be passed from land to land for more than a millennium, and now finally he was found.

She knew the former men in her care would need guidance and reassurance if she was to be finished with their dimension once and for all. She also knew that their existence was tied to her *and* that they might fight for their sister as her beloved took hold, and without understanding their role, might endanger both sister and her lover. 

She didn’t like pandering to humans or half breeds, but in this case, it might prove necessary if she was to use them properly.

Alexander woke as the body in his arms stirred. He thought he was dreaming… was sure he was dreaming. He could taste blood in his mouth and wondered if he had cut his tongue. He had slightly swollen lips, an odd sense of fullness, a taste similar to mothers’ milk in his mouth. 

He went to feel his teeth with what he thought was a torn tongue and cried out as he felt lengthened canines then looked down to spy his own arms, now covered in blondish and brown dappled fur. He felt he should panic but merely felt panic and heard himself growl, then remembered the grief of the previous… The body in his arms was Will, his brother, and Will was dead… but now… moving? Maybe it was all a terrible dream, but Will turned raised up, pushed his brother away a little with preternaturally strong arms, and stared at him. His inner Xander recognised the ridges and the fangs, it was Spike’s old game face.

Yellow eyes blinked open, then began to shed bloodied tears as William felt the demon force stir within and knew instantly. He was dead… again… and in the arms of someone who smelt like his brother, but not, then he looked down and saw the fur covering the arms that had been holding him tight and cried for them both. If his brother was a werewolf he would stand by him for three days a month, if he was a Halfling then they would find somewhere together where he and Alexander could live without being condemned to hide… But there was something else… 

William let go and his demon took full possession of thoughts and memories. There were two flavours in his mouth, one vaguely like mother’s milk and the other… Alexander. And there was more, he had bitten and been bitten. For a vampire that was not done lightly. So this was to be their fate. Unable to save Poppie, trapped in bodies that were freakish enough to commit them to the shadows? The old Spike raged and was just about to rise and tear apart… wherever they were when Alexander pulled him up into a desperate kiss.

Ignoring the game face, Alexander knew his brother, his new senses could smell him, taste him. And his brother was definitely dead, but also… all in there. Somehow Alex knew the soul was in tact, that the figure in his arms was fearful, and that they were both in deep trouble. He pulled William, the vampire William, down into an even tighter hug and this time it was reciprocated. The kiss that ensued was desperate not passionate, and the two continued to hug until exhaustion and trauma took its toll and they slept, their combined tears enough to make any conversation unnecessary.

Illyria was satisfied. She calculated that feeding the Halflings once or twice more would be enough and perhaps once they had joined, her thoughts might be understood. To be on the safe side she decided to accelerate the partnering process, adjusted her juices accordingly, had a minion prepare them. Alexander’s legs were gently eased up and William lowered over him to the perfect position where stiff member pushed gently against the entrance of the other man. 

William was resting against the brunette’s strong furred chest as he came to. Illyria had just withdrawn her fronds and this time the boost was exactly as she hoped.

Pheromones assaulted William’s new senses and his demon screamed for claiming, Alexander was similarly affected. Their human personas had both contemplated it, but now the drive was too much. William took Alexander’s mouth and drove into him before Alex even had time to tense up. It had never felt like this with other male partners, he had never really taken it this far – not face to face and kissing! But this was right, and as his prostate was struck on the way in… and out… and in… over and over, he pulled his lips from the newly made vampire’s and sank his canines into a straining neck. Seconds later he felt the sting of the same and both came hard. Alexander spilling between them at the same time the sensation of cool seed filling his bowels occurred.

Alexander didn’t miss the “Love you” nor the opportunity to whisper the same, then heard the rather sultry, if a little cheeky, "You on top next time OK?”, then lost his naughty grin as he felt a profound shift inside his being, saw William's eye revert to wide eyed blue for a moment, and wondered just what it was they had done. The two pulled together in a tight, rather terrified hug, but still let sated sleep take them.

Illyria was happy, her champions were bound together – Vampire and Consort, Hyena and Mate, Soldier and friend, human male and same sex partner, souls that shared a history now bound forever. But she knew it was time. 

She pressed her fronds into the sleeping male mouths and fed them for the last time. Her minions carried the cage to her throne room and she waited. She had been patient after their joining, waited for them to snooze, imprinted her needs and the necessary knowledge in their minds, then invoked the spell. As they stirred from slumber, she began to chant.

……………..

 

Poppie was dying, her boys had both been taken and Charlotte was being sedated against her will! She fought Trent and the other coven members. She cried and pleaded, but was unable to cope in this real world that had become hers, and in the end gave a anguished cry as the needle went in and she gave in to blessed black. 

Willow’s life partner, Livvy, sat solemnly with the now sleeping Charlotte and worked through her repertoire of healing chants whilst monitoring her fellow wiccan.

Trent was coping only marginally better, a large part of which had been that he was part of the original group to restore his boys’ life forces to newborn bodies and understood the link. Despite still being unable to reconcile their disappearance and the prophesy and everything else, he divided his time between attending his dear heart Charlotte, his dying daughter and his remaining child, the lovely Blanche, who was now proving his rock.

Blanche was at her best – even Willow was amazed. She took her father’s hand and accompanied him down the darkened hall from her sister’s sick bed and toward the cared for figure of her mother. It was two in the morning, the wall seemed to shimmer in the dark and she pulled her father back behind her as a blue rift opened in the wall opposite, this time spewing forth… 

 

A father fell to his knees as he saw the figures, and despite his daughter’s efforts to hold him back, reached out a tentative hand to two unconscious forms of… his boys. Their forms flashed the manifestations that were those of Illyria’s dimension but almost before their father could register any change or Blanche scream for help, the two shifted form to their previous pretty human guises. 

Trent collapsed onto the ground pulling his two dear boys into a vice like hug, joined by Blanche as the coven came running and the four family members began to cry. Alexander sobbed and apologised for not keeping William safe. His father noted the bluish tinge to William’s lips, felt the prickle of demon energy and tugged William closer. There was no warmth, no heartbeat, and Trent knew. Charlotte’s beautiful Billie was dead, and William along with Alexander had again been condemned by fate.

Their father began to grieve and William and Alexander attempted to comfort, trying to tell their father that they were ‘OK’, that the prophesy had begun, that they loved him. They tried, but Trent was beyond listening, and simply rocked the two large male forms he had pulled against him... his sons... his wonderful sons. 

Blanche was also sobbing and collapsed onto her knees in a full down position. She felt the prickle from both her brothers, particularly Will, and saw her father’s distress. In an effort to connect with her brothers she put her hands out within touching distance, palms up, seeking… reassurance… anything from the returned two. The gesture was acknowledged and the woman drawn into their hug.

The four continued to hold tight as members of the coven arrived at a run, but it was Blanche who roused family and coven members to action as she looked up to Willow who had just skidded to a halt and quietly said a single word, “Poppie!”  
PART 8

Willow all but peeled Trent and Blanche from the boys. Mistress assisting the daughter to standing but Trent was unwilling to release hold of either son.

William and Alexander were still a little disorientated… their lives… all their lives… and unlives… had fully integrated with their joining…they could still taste… her and had been sent blinding images of what they had to do on their return – along with the hypothetical consequences if they failed. The dimensional push made both feel a little ill as they came too but then Papa Trent was there and crying, and Blanche was hugging… Strangely when Alexander felt distress William felt it also – as though it were his but as yet neither man was able to truly command their limbs.

In the end High Mistress Willow knelt and gently asked that the others might carry the boys to his partner’s sick room. A still tearful Trent, the  
normally so strong and loving father eventually gave a simple nod, his boys were lifted into safe arms and he was helped up to follow the group to Charlotte’s sick room.

As Willow walked beside the semi-conscious figure of Alexander being carried in the powerful arms of Trent’s best friend Levi, she noticed how very like the healthy twenty four year old Xander of Sunnydale he appeared, and there was more. He ‘prickled’ and, she noted, had been bitten. She looked over to William, knowing that he must have been turned by some… thing, but was surprised by the spacing of the puncture wounds and the marks of human teeth between the main holes.

As the two were laid out on two beds in the infirmary beside their mother, Alex roused and fought his kind attendee insisting, “No!! With William… please! With Will!” 

The hubbub was resolved when the two were both placed on a single narrow bed, and no one missed that the two men immediately pulled together into a tight hug that definitely included touching every part of two nude bodies and finding each others’ necks. To Willow's relief, however, there was no biting, simply licking and semi-conscious petting in an attempt to reassure and comfort. 

Willow began to worry as the two seemed to relax into sleep once more – Poppie was fading – and fast! 

It was a given. The only known way to rid their of the Old One attempting to manifest in Poppie’s body (if the records from Angel and Spike’s first venture to the Deeper Well were accurate) was to return the essence to its container in the Well – and in the process everything in its airborne wake would be infected. According to legend the sarcophagus would return with the Old One but hundreds of thousands of humans – probably millions - would die in the wake of the venture. But now, according to the prophesy, they possibly had one other option. William and Alexander were apparently capable of returning the Old One, the Consort, to Illyria’s realm.

Just as Willow worried that the two would not wake, William sat bolt upright and glassy eyed, all but chanted, “Mistress Willow, we have been instructed in what must be done, please take us to the site of the Old One’s Consort’s current host.”

William swung his legs and stood, followed by a seemingly barely aware Alexander who did likewise. The boys, clad in aught but their birthday suits, paused in unison to look at their unconscious adoptive mother for a moment, then followed Willow and the coven group down the long corridor to the room where Poppie lay dying.

It was obvious that their pretty sister was being ‘prepared’, just like any host of an Old One, her human body was being hollowed out to become a shell that would contain the essence of an original demon, and every one of her human organs was currently at the point of failure. 

Had it not been for near fatal levels of sedation and the extraordinary efforts of the coven to ensure she was enveloped in a ‘bubble’ of chanting for her wellbeing, she would already be dead.

William did not pause as he entered the room. With Alexander but a step behind, the group of chanting wiccans tending Poppie parted, allowing the brother to kneel at his sister’s bedside, apparently to pray. Then all (including Willow) gasped as a game faced, fully vampiric William rose in a flash and dove on the pretty young woman’s neck.

Willow and other coven members were about to move but were stilled by Alexander who growled (!) at them, flashed orange tinged eyes and elongated canines, then turned to his brother and now partner in all things.

William knew instinctively when Poppie was close to drained and could hear the already weakened heart failing as he drew just one mouthful more of her blood. Illyria had shown them mind pictures of what to do, but there were still no guarantees.

Illyria's consort, the Old One was in panic. If the body failed before he took over completely, then he would perish with the human shell. 

Alexander put his mouth over Poppie’s as convulsions of the final death throws started, and the essence of the Old One ‘jumped ship’.

William pulled away from the neck and all but screamed, “Get her blood *now*!”, terrified that if he were to offer his own at this time it would turn her. 

The attending coven nurse simply replaced the bag of fluid attached to the catheter. It would be some hours before all that had been taken might be replaced, but within minutes Poppie’s weak vital signs at least stabilized with the combination of blood and adrenalin. 

But few noticed as the attention was on Alexander who was convulsing on the floor in his vampire brother’s arms.

None in the coven understood, and all a little gobsmacked as a fine pelt of fur seemed to erupt from the man they had all known as the jovial, generous *human* Alexander. His brother, *game faced* growled, “Red!? Be so kind as to *Open the bloody Rift*.” 

Willow was at a loss – the dimensional rift had, in previous times, apparently opened of its own accord! “I… Um… That is… William we don’t know how!”

“Then call the bloody Powers That Screw You! It’s their idea the boy here an’ me get to do the hero thing all over – and he’ll end up dead as many times as yours truly if’n ya don’t hurry!” He turned back to his former brother in this life and held on as Alexander’s unconscious form convulsed violently, the Hyena spirit subsuming his human one to fight the Old One desperately for possession of the body, and within minutes, the soldier joined 'her' in her struggle against a far more powerful adversary.

Two hours later Poppie was on the way to recovery but Alexander was in severe trouble, his saving grace was the powerful hyena, and William, Spike’s, vampiric blood. Half way through his third serious convulsion, his canines had found William’s throat and they were now in a near endless cycle of exchange, so much so that the pulse of Alexander became the chant of love from William.

It bought the coven, and in particular Giles and his team, the time they needed to find a way to open the rift.

Chanting began again and the blue flash took the two yet again.

There was no guarantee of their survival, or their return, but there was no choice.

…………………………..

William was torn away from the figure under him just as he heard/felt Illyria’s command, “Return my Consort to me!”

Alexander’s form arched impossibly from the bed as a sickly grey cloud emerged from his mouth, then his body slumped and William sped to his side.

William cradled the larger unconscious figure as one might the most delicate and precious object in the world, as indeed he was in William’s eyes. The vampire opened his wrist and fed him healing fluids then listened as the heart beat and breathing slowed and evened. 

William was just aware enough to register the small ceremony being conducted in front of them ‘You have done well. The Powers and Illyria are pleased with their champions. My Consort too, is in your debt. One we will pay in due course, but for now…”

William had just enough time to see what looked like an odd red and white pulsing toadstool being caressed and tickled under the ‘lip’ by Illyria’s multiple arms before giving in to the sickening tug that he had come to know as the dimensional shift.

……………..

Two days later, a very alive Alexander roused his partner with a warm begging tear dropping onto cool face. Seconds later his thoughts of worry and regret were stolen by a sinfully wonderful mouth containing a hint of vampire blood and much rubbing of manly parts before falling asleep again.

Poppie was recovering well, Blanche too after she lent all her energy to the effort that saw the boys propelled back into Illyria’s dimension. 

Charlotte was allowed to visit her sons, having been lifted gently from her sick bed by Trent’s strong arms and carried the few meters to where her sons lay, just barely on the cusp of consciousness.

Charlotte felt the prickle of the ‘other’ coming from her boys, but the two were sleeping so peacefully entwined in each other that she could not imagine the changes described by her partner. He had already shown her the recovering Poppie, so she simply squeezed Trent’s arm, to which he tiredly replied, “Sure they’ll chat to you in the morning… now… bath?”  
PART 9

Late the following afternoon, Mistress Willow let herself in to the ‘Boy’s shed’ noting that the two must have collapsed by the fire together rather than trying to navigate stairs to their mezzanine spaces. They were in a tight embrace on the rug, obviously nude and covered by a couple of old throw rugs. At first she thought they were both still asleep with William spooning Alexander, but then watched in amazement then not a small measure of embarrassment as the still weak William and Alexander continued to give in to their natural urges and both let out a groan of pleasure as they moved together.

The scene was as beautiful and natural as it was disturbing. She could see the slight sheen of fur on the arm Alexander had thrown over his face, and from the purring growl from William, she suspected a game face would be in place. She made a hurried exit and warded the door for good measure. She needed time with the changed men… but in an hour or so... obviously. 

As they heard the door click Alexander momentarily stopped thrusting back and stilled William, who growled for his trouble. “Was that the Mistress Willow? Do you think…”

“…she saw us… yeah Luv no doubt… now come on before we both expire with…” ::slight pull out and… thrust:: “*Need*” ::almost completely out and thrust again:: “Ghods I love you Alex… Need you. Want…” ::thrust:: “…you” ::thrust reach around and place hand over Alex’s already working his own hardness, and continued his own movement. “Come with me… come…” a few more erratic in and outs heralded both their climaxes, William’s demon claiming Alex’s neck and the hyena bit deep into William’s offered wrist in the process. They both lay sated but still joined until finally William pulled out with a groan. There had to be showers and food and…

Finally game to return, Willow lifted she knocked with trepidation, unwilling to open the door a second time without invitation.

It was Xander who responded, “Hey Mistress Willow, if it’s you? We were just… that is we were… Ummm… Please Wills, just come in.”

Willow’s breath hitched, she hadn’t heard her old name since she had held a desperately ill AIDS ridden Xander in her arms nearly twenty five years earlier, certainly it wasn’t a name Alexander would have used prior to their dimensional jump.

“I… um… I didn’t want to interrupt anything…”

“Nothin’ to interrupt that we wouldn’t be happy to share Luv…”

It wasn’t William speaking – it was most definitely Spike but the tone didn’t have the harsh edge, rather a softer, gentler tone that spelt ‘mischievous’ rather than ‘evil’. And Willow remembered… the helpful chipped Spike who worried for Buffy/Dawn; the ensouled, soon to be martyred Spike; the almost dusted injured and returned by Illyria Spike… But this really was William… with all the add-ons and integrations… it was still their William and their Alexander of the now, so she answered the two ‘boys’ she had seen grown up – but with full knowledge of what they had become – obviously the gestalt beings as predicted by the prophesy text…

“William, Alexander, your parents are still desperately worried about you! Yet you have been down here ‘relaxing’ for… well… some time. Now I’m not prying lady here… but you need to… well at least explain things to Charlotte and Trent! 

“I’m putting on my resolved face now! You two go tell your dear mother and father that you are alright – or so help me … my black eyes will see you both torn from your brother…partner… whatever and made into plants for a couple of months, potted and only able to touch if you grow enough!”

The threat was real and the men realized that they really did need to move.

They dressed quickly and in silence, Alexander noting with relief that the fine sheen of fur that seemed to appear when they made love had begun to recede. He looked over to William and smiled ruefully, his brother was trying to warm himself up by standing as close as possible to the fire. Alex received a smile back but it was a sad one, and he didn’t miss the hand rising to the pulse point on his neck that no longer registered a heart beat.

There was no easy way to tell their parents what had occurred to or between them in the last forty eight hours.

The two entered their parents’ cottage from the cool of a clear evening. Neither felt particularly different, rather they felt like they did when they had to face the music after playing up at school, or messing up their father’s tool shed. Alex reached back for his now Mate’s hand, it was accepted and they silently squeezed their solidarity.

Trent and Charlotte were seated in the lounge with Mistress Willow standing off to the side. As they entered the room their two beautiful boys looked little different from the night of Poppie’s party, but their magical signature spelt otherwise.

Silence can be golden, but here it was downright uncomfortable. The two men stood at the door and seemed a little unsure of where they should sit or how to start the conversation. 

Finally Charlotte gave in to her own distress and worry for all her children and launched herself at her beloved adopted boys. Trent joined the hug moments later and allowed his own tears to join those of his lovely partner. They held and petted the boys, almost trying to understand what had happened to their sons by touch alone. The magical prickle may have felt different but everything else seemed so normal, until William caught his mother’s hand as she ran it over Alexander’s mating mark on her blonde boy’s neck. Tearful blue eyes met Charlotte’s pained expression and her breath hitched as her too pale son whispered in an emotion filled voice, “I’m dead Mum… I’m here but I’m… dead.” 

They left Alexander still in Trent’s embrace and sat on the lounge together as Charlotte continued to stroke William’s hair and cheek. They sat for a moment before Charlotte trusted her own voice.

“No sweetie… you are as alive now as ever before. You are in this world and of this world.”

“I’m a demon Mum… relying on blood to live… driven to kill!”

“Is that what it feels like? The driven I mean?” 

“Yes? No? I don’t know… just that … I don’t know!!!… Stupid really, selfish git… but you can’t love a demon… I can’t see how… Not sorry we saved Poppie ::hic:: not at all… not sorry for that.”

“Nor are we sweetheart… but how can you think that what you have become will change how I feel, how we feel?! Oh my darling Billy how could you think that? We love you *so* much… so much… And we didn’t realise… when it all happened so fast… I just wish…” Charlotte paused, “I just wish you had been given the chance to partner and experience the joy of…”

William knew there was no going back with the next admission. Their parents might well reject them completely. They were brothers by last name only, but still brothers in their parents’ eyes – yet now they were Mated for all time, Vampire and Hyena, thrust into the situation, now unable to break the bond or need for each other until death took them. 

“We’ve mated Mum… Alex and I… in the other dimension… and here… We um… there was Illyria… and… it was right then… but… ::hic:: Oh Mum!... I’m a vampire now and…” Charlotte stemmed her instinct to shiver as her son shifted to game face and began to shed blood tinge tears, “We’ve mated – spiritual mojo, blood exchange, and physically joined… there and here. It can’t be undone. We are one joined soul in two bodies now… and if Alex dies then so will I and vice versa…” 

Charlotte caught the begging look for acceptance from yellow fearful eyes that swiftly shifted to blue. She pulled ‘her Billie’ up until he was cradled against the familiar ample bosom and peppered him with kisses just as he had been treated as a small child. “You silly duffer… how could you think we would reject you… after all, the prophesy said it would happen… I doubt it was up to you boys at all. Now come on relax… my Billie… just give your old mum here a hug. Things will work out… they’ll work out…”

William gave in to the magnitude of all that had happened to them over the last few days and hugged his beautiful wiccan adoptive mother. She rocked the fully grown man, now vampire, noted the cool to touch skin and grieved internally for his lack of heartbeat. But then she looked across to Trent who had Alexander in a not dissimilar position, and they exchanged tired smiles. 

From the very beginning, they knew their boys were different, were the subject of prophesy, and would always be pushed beyond what most might endure, but now… as parts of the prophesy played out, the two parents worried. The fact that the boys had partnered in an other worldly sense (and a very worldly one!) was according to prophesy. And if that were true then they would become the most powerful magical partnership in this realm, destined for challenges that only they might face.

What seemed like hours later Willow suggested a cup of tea and the four gradually relaxed into what could only be described as a family ‘show and discover’ session.

Charlotte asked to see William’s demon face again, the man upset enough at the request that it emerged by itself, a jolt of magical energy through the mating link stirred Alexander’s hyena spirit and his fur emerged and canines extended also. Charlotte reached over and stroked the fine pelt in the direction of the nape then moved forward to kiss her son’s handsome face on both his now slightly furry cheeks.

The moustache was familiar but the patterning and blending of it and other facial hair was not, nor was the fur that covered his ears, ending in large black dots at each peak.

As she repeated her kisses, Alexander lifted his left hand in an attempt to touch her with gratitude – belatedly realising that it was now dappled and had a sharp pointed, curved claw on each finger, rather than human nail. “Oh Ghods! I’m a freak… Mum I’m sorry… I’m… we didn’t… Oh…::hic::… I can’t… I just…”

Alexander made a valiant attempt at escaping, but hardly made it to his knees before he was stopped in his tracks by the Mistress Willow’s commanding voice. 

“Alexander! You will not abandon your family, your mate, your duty, or deny what you have become. Now face your mother, and needs be, ask to hear what you already know but are so willing to deny.”

Alexander pressed his forehead to the floor and begged, “Please… please… accept what I am now… I will understand if you can’t but… Will too please…?”

William watched as his Mate, his until only days ago, adoptive brother, prostrated himself in front of their mother then raised his torso and chin and with tears streaking through still obvious fur, begged her acceptance and pledged his love to William, father, mother, sisters and coven. William dropped down beside his brother grabbed his hand and joined the plea.

Charlotte was intensely moved but was now taking her lead from the Mistress Willow, so waited before even daring to respond.

Willow spoke only once more, “The two coven members, our changed sons, are partnered – for all time. There is no way of reversing the spell, indeed it would end their existence. The Old One Illyria has blessed and cursed them. Let us rejoice in her blessing, for they are now timeless and strong. Let them live in society for as long as is possible but be *always* cherished by the coven. Charlotte, Trent, your sons… and they are truly that… Your sons may well prove the only hope for a human race fraught with deadly strife and be the leading light for a demon world also about to be taken down if Gaia should falter. It will mean pain and sacrifice but the two as one will endure.”

Charlotte’s breathing hitched as she heard the prophesy put into such stark relief. She was on the very edge of collapse when three sets of strong male *human* arms enveloped her. Her sons eventually kissed her then their father in turn and Trent carried the exhausted Charlotte to bed.

William and Alexander were both still fairly emotional, but Mistress Willow was not about to let them off the hook. 

“Right Misters! No more hanky panky in front of me, training at 6pm sharp and I do expect you to start patrolling with the trainee wiccans and slayers. Kapisch!??”

Both men grinned a little sheepishly but the light hearted tone was a welcome change from the intensity of the night, so in unison they replied “Kapisch” then kissed passionately before avoiding a slap from the High Mistress by blowing her a kiss and sprinting into the night.  
PART 10

The ensuing weeks were very strange, for both men it meant they, the family, and the coven had to come to terms with William and Alexander’s many changes, along with the men trying to fit back into their old lives.

William’s eating habits were the hardest to deal with, and for him the most disturbing part was that the ingesting of blood felt entirely… normal Blanche commenting that his lifelong attraction to all things red was at least now - understandable. Alexander’s desire for raw meat and attraction to the outdoors and hard manual work was also comfortable, but their mating and William’s dead status was definitely problematic for all ‘in the know’.

William, little Billie the expert hugger, was increasingly more reserved when it came to touching people. Conscious that he was cold and the absent heart beat and lack of breathing would denote his dead status all too easily. His ‘death’ remained unreported, his ‘Goth’ look no different from before and the concept of immortality seemed silly so was dismissed to the recesses of his (and Alexander’s) mind.

William went back to writing for the newspaper, though Charlotte worried for them both, it was her Billie that caused the most concern. Even more than before, William became a recluse, avoided daylight, actively walking ‘the long way’ through the shadows whenever visiting the main coven building, and renegotiated his hours with the newspaper so he was not required at the paper in daylight. His profile with the paper’s HR department now had ‘reclusive writer’ and ‘antisocial’ against his name. 

It took a month or two but eventually Alex and he had experimented, and strangely, unlike other vampires, the sun’s rays couldn’t kill him – but they certainly did make him feel mighty uncomfortable – and he suspected that long term exposure would see his demise. But Illyria had been true to her word, William was immune to the sun, just as Alexander could control his hyena (just as long as he could slow his breathing and concentrate on the soldier). And the Mating was absolute… 

Alexander was still the affable jovial boy/man Charlotte (and everyone else) had always loved, yet now had a darker edge to his personality and penchant for raw meat. His stance when left alone for a time, was that of a soldier, and she could see the flare of green in his eyes whenever he was angry. 

Post summer, Alexander was offered another contract at the school where he had been teaching for the previous eighteen months and took the job. He seemed able to contain the hyena during the day – though the soldier occasionally emerged, barked orders and saw five or six of the school’s grade six bullies doing laps of the oval until they *promised* not to take anyone else’s lunch money… and meant it! 

The children at school still adored Mr Davis, and the only comment made by his colleagues was that he had an increasingly more honed physique and seemed to have an ever more intense, calm nature. But Charlotte saw something more. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it and had almost dismissed her thoughts until witnessing the two boys sparring one evening. 

She had been in the process of taking new linen out for her sons, when drawn to the old stone barn come gym by a disturbing noise. The snarls and growls were those of two wild animals, and as she rounded the doorway her breathing hitched. She knew the implications of William’s demon but hadn’t quite realised the raw nature of the spirit Alexander carried.

Both men were barefoot and stripped to the waist. William was in game face and Alexander’s fur was visible and standing up, his canines obviously longer and top lip drawn back in threat. The continuing spar/fight was being conducted at lightening speed, no holes barred and brutal. Sharp talons ripped at flesh, kicks found their mark, punches made a sickening thud as they connected, and teeth were being used as weapons.

Finally there was an impasse, both men were on the floor with fangs and canines embedded in each other’s throats, William slapped his mate, raised a bloodied visage from his mate’s throat and ‘called’ the round. They released, licked each other’s wounds before slumping to the ground side by side, just in time to see their mother faint in the doorway.

With speed and strength borne of their new natures, the men let their ‘other’ slip away and cradled her in two strong (rather sweaty and bloodied) sets of arms.

Alexander pulled her closer to his chest, “Get dad! Or someone! Will - you go, you’re faster!” William was already on his way, sprinting to the cottage to raise the alarm, then repeating the process at the main coven complex. Within seconds Trent was skidding to a halt at the gym door and several wiccans were sprinting across the courtyard, Poppie amongst them.

The fuss was not what Charlotte had intended but gave in to everyone’s concerns and tucked into bed, had her vital signs checked and a cup of weak tea delivered. 

As the others left and Trent made to go, she grabbed her partner’s hand. Poppie caught the exchange from the door and resolved to talk to Blanche next time she was at the coven… “I saw them sweetheart, our boys… I saw them… in their other state… It’s two months today and they’ve been living with… We need to help… They *can’t* do it alone I don’t care what the scroll says! Our dear, beautiful boys….”

“I know lover… I know…. Shhhh…. They are ours and also now belong to the ‘other’, but c’mon baby… just lean on me… lean on me…” Trent gave in to his own grief and just as Charlotte buried her face into her partner’s strong shoulder, she registered his tightened hold and hot tears falling on her neck, then grabbed him closer as the man she knew as her rock collapsed and began to grieve in earnest. Trent had not cried since his boys’ return… now was the time.

Charlotte and Trent slept the tense sleep of parents who had lost and found and lost. Eventually it was a soft knock on the door that roused them both. 

Alexander’s quiet voice pre-empted their two worried sons entering the room, “Mum? Dad? We um… I mean we’re… um… Hi… Are you guys OK?”

It didn’t take too much for the two to be invited onto the bed for a four way hug made into five and six ways as both Poppie and Blanche (who had come home when she learned of her mother’s ‘episode’) joining their parents and brothers. 

As the sun peeped around the side of the old pull blind, Alexander felt an incredible sense of calm. His head was cradled in a strong male right arm by his father; he was flanked by his little sister and had his Mate’s powerful right hand resting on his left hip.

Poppie roused as her brother stirred, also conscious that William was there, but his pulse wasn’t. He was cool to the touch and apparently oblivious to her desperate touches and hugs, finally rousing after latching on to his brother, his Mate’s, wrist.

Yellow eyes turned to pained blue as he looked up to his little sister, his fangs instantly receding. “ ‘s who I am little sis… ‘s who I am now…”

The tone was so sad that the youngest sibling threw herself at William and bared her neck. “Then take from me William… *please* take from me!”

William’s demon emerged again, but the bite was loving and gentle, and he only ‘skimmed’ taking barely half a litre before licking the wound closed and pulling away. Blanche also ‘donated’ and was gifted with a sobbing William in her arms for her trouble. “Please Blanche… please forgive me… I have to do this now… just to survive I need…Oh Blanche thank you but please forgive…”

Their parents pulled their adult children close, Charlotte murmuring placating phrases before giving in to sleep once more. And an emotional Alexander, seeing his mate feed from their sister, let go all restraint.

Poppie was cradled in her now fur covered brother as Alexander let his true nature manifest in front of his sisters for the first time. 

It wouldn’t be the last of the family hugs but it was a definitive one – the reassurance that there were no secrets, no lies, no need to conceal their true nature when it came to family.

 

A month following the family reconciliation, several strange attacks on livestock during the night had the two changed men under suspicion, if only amongst the younger members of the coven. The torn out throats and drained blood of three sheep seemed more than simple coincidence – at least that was the rumour being tauted by young acolyte Megan who was a peer of Poppie’s. She was not a very popular member of the coven, having flirted shamelessly with Poppie’s two brothers in succession over the previous summer, only to be told by both men that they ‘weren’t interested’. Hurt and embarrassed, infatuation turned to abject hatred and even before they were changed, she had a smear campaign in full swing.

When comments regarding their orientation drew no fire, she insinuated that they might be seeing people outside the coven, risking the security of the wiccan community. Again her venom failed to find its mark. But after their changes (public knowledge throughout the coven) Megan’s accusations regards the slaughtered livestock and nature of the killings caused real concern, and Megan gloated as she observed the two ‘Theadore boys’ entering the office of a very serious Mistress Willow.

Willow was wringing her hands as she ushered the men to the two comfortable chairs near the fire. She too sat, let out a heavy sigh and slumped as she did so.

Their own trepidation forgotten, Alexander was instantly out of his chair and kneeling at her feet, William a mere second behind him.

“Are you ill Mistress?”

“Can we do anything Mistress?”

She took one hand of each of the men in front of her. Concerned chocolate eyes and a pair of crystal blue were fixed on her and she smiled a little.

“Just a yes/no answer… Did you kill the sheep? I will understand but I just need to…”

The two answered in unison, “No!!! Mistress we don’t take what is not offered!”

Willow sighed again, “I thought as much. But something is killing – and not just ours – the James’ next door and several other farms have all reported losses over the last month… I … I need you to… patrol.”

The request was as new as it was unexpected. Even with their improved abilities, Slayer numbers were high and William’s ‘status’ made him a target – for that matter so did Alexander’s hyena possession. 

Willow all but begged with her eyes, “I wouldn’t ask but you are the strongest of us all now… use a glamour… I have already run the idea by Charlotte and Trent – neither of your parents is happy, but we have to clear your names… Please understand!”

Alexander’s fur had begun to emerge despite his wishing otherwise. “So what? Some rabid dog takes out a couple of our sheep and all of a sudden we’re public enemy number one!? And why didn’t Mum and Dad say something? Are they…?”

“Your parents gave me leave to speak to you first – at my request. I don’t believe you to be the perpetrators of these killings any more than you mother might, but there are members of this coven who have been… disturbed by your changes… and more than a little rattled by your increasing magical power.”

William looked up at this with genuine surprise, “Haven’t done anything to worry ‘em… yet?!”

Willow levelled her eyes on the boys and near whispered, “No, but you could, couldn’t you? And you will… in time…”

Alexander’s hair stood on end as he shivered and William growled in protest but both men nodded reluctantly.

William spoke up first. “We’ll patrol… but only ‘til we find ‘im.”

PART 11

The following three nights the two men stepped out together, William in black great coat and… black everything, Alexander in old army fatigues he had found at the army disposals and bought when still at University and preparing for an ‘adventure ed.’ Camp. For both men, the attire and the act of patrolling felt surprisingly comfortable and familiar.

Old memories mixed with new as the two strode side by side through the countryside, but in the end the action was… none… No werewolves, no rabid dogs, no feral vampires… nothing. 

At two in the morning of the third night, they gave up. They both had work in the light of day - well strictly speaking, afternoon and evening (Alex and William respectively) but still! They were tired and cranky so made their way back to the coven though for some reason William stopped at the border of the property and grinned at his compatriot then looked up at a huge oak that marked their south west corner, his full vampire features at the fore.

In a flash of power and speed, Will hauled himself up a large oak using his new strength and agility, literally leaping vertically up and gaining a higher vantage point than he would have ever dared in his human guise, then threw a hand down to pull his hyena partner, also strong but not quite as agile, the rest of the way up to sit with him. 

The trunk was thick and relatively smooth and the branch a comfortable straddle for both men. Alexander leaned back on Will and sighed. It had rained during every night they had ‘patrolled’, and the branch they were perched on was still damp but somehow natural, solid, comforting. As was now usual, they had been greeted by a whine of new electrical equipment monitoring their movements and the prickle of a ward as they re-entered coven grounds. 

William had complained to Mistress Willow on the previous night that, “They might as well have collared us both and added an electric tracer for good measure.” To which she answered sadly, “That is exactly what was first proposed. Sweetie, the report has gone to the New Watcher’s Council... We have pledged our support for you and your parents have gone guarantors… but *please* understand… It’s not like when Andrew was in charge… they’re a huge organization with a couple of zealots amongst their inner circle… It’s just a precaution – and might even vindicate you in the end. Please understand… You must fulfil the patrol agreement before they will back off.”

To which William had replied, “No… I don’t, *we* don’t… ‘understand’. There is not a *shred* of evidence implicating us… and I’m wet and cold… and so’s Alex… and bloody hell!! There’s *nothing out there*! Sheep, dog, wolf, I don’t know… rabid fellow on his bucks night rampage and Baaaabara was unwilling so he commits sheepicide! Willow this is *us*!!! Why isn’t that *enough*?”

The speech had been to no avail so now on a clear, much colder night, the two who had given up their wandering, their trying to find signs of life or attack or magic… or anything, and instead surveyed their surroundings from on high, while taking some time to pet and warm and kiss.

William was the first to say what Alexander was thinking as the two finally exchanged a little blood, “Three nights without a decent shag… Reckon that’s against the international law of cruelty to… well any bloke under thirty really!”

“But we…” 

“Last night don’t count Luv… ‘twas just a means of gettin’ warm and relaxed remember?!”

“Point… Was still nice though…”

“That it was… mind if I ruffle your fur again, to assist in passing the time on our noble mission tonight ‘o course.”

William felt the hard pointed nails on Alexander’s suddenly changed hands reach up and scrape lightly over his own ridges as the hyena growled, “Go ahead.” It made the night significantly more bearable.

Eventually, around four in the morning, they heard a very worried Trent calling them frantically from the walled enclosure of the coven. Before completely registering the urgency, William found his phone and discovered he had two text messages, Alexander had three, sadly both phones had been on silent. 

They pushed out of the tree, dropped to the ground in a single elegant manoeuvre, adjusted their clothing as needed then sprinted for home, both leaping the eight foot high stone wall with ease, and landing mere feet from a very worried Trent’s feet.

Their father was pale, “There’s been another attack.”

The two spoke in unison, “What? Where? Well it wasn’t…”

“You. Yes I do know that for a fact. Your mother warded the oaks on the south perimeter herself… She felt you there. Camera had you placed there too when the attacks happened.”

Alexander could not help but blush a little at the thought that some of their activities may have been watched but refocused as his father continued. “Blanche and Lucy went out looking…”

“*Blanche* went out! What? Were they ordered to follow us? Did the coven just think ‘lambs to the slaughter’ and then just went with the theme as applied to their own members on some bitch Megan’s sayso?! Lucy couldn’t defend herself if she had a full sized automated and magically defended armoured tank!! And Blanche is totally out of practice!! *Bloody Hell* Where are they now?!”

“Well that’s the thing… I’m not sure if they were sent or that Blanche wanted to prove your innocence with a backup witness account! They went out at around midnight, sort of following you… by your magical signature and by two am they seemed to be on to something and reported in that they were continuing with a new line of investigation… then next we had was a garbled phonecall before the mobile went dead. They were just trying to help…”

“But we’d... Dad it was the third night of *nothing* so we kind of…”

“I know Will… and wouldn’t have mattered but um…”

Alexander was calm for a moment… “Has something taken them? Dad *are they OK*?? Do you think something magical – or human took them? Do we know if they’re OK?”

“We think it might have been a werewolf… or a vampire… or… well we don’t really know what – but there was screaming during the phonecall and we know where they were at that point. And Willow and the coven are tracking Blanche’s signature… and we’ve called the Council of Watchers – it seemed like the right thing to do… given the number of Slayers these days.”

In full game face William roared the frustration of a Master Vampire then shook much of his face away and growled “Dad if she is bitten and changed they, the bloody Slayers(!), will *kill* her.” 

Trent looked painfully at his two sons and said in a near whisper, “Why do you think I called you? She is here.” He held out a tiny homing beacon tracker and almost before he registered it gone from his hands, the two had cleared the wall again and were sprinting for the coordinates. Trent turned to the door of their small home to see Charlotte and Poppie standing arm in arm looking rather desperately at him. He walked past then kissing his daughter’s temple and caressing his wife’s cheek, they all retreated inside, said in an emotionally rough voice, “The boys’ll find her, and Lucy… I know they will.”

William and Alexander could both hear the snarling and growls of a large animal in killing mode, then yelp and another cry of a dying animal as a shot rang out. They rounded the narrow hedgerow of the local cemetery at full speed skidding to a halt in front of a desperate scene.

Lucy was on the ground dead. Her throat had been torn out, torso slashed and legs were akimbo as though she may have been violated as well. There was a Slayer, they recognised her, Ella lived in the next town and only occasionally patrolled their little patch in the country. She was now standing with a hand gun at her hip prodding a very obviously dead werewolf with her foot, before its form began to change back to human even as they watched.

Ella spun and levelled the gun at the two figures as the sound of skidding feet on gravel announced their presence. In the very beginnings of sunrise she could clearly see that one was in game face, the other covered in fur and growling.

“Good, the rest of the family has arrived – just as well I brought the economy pack of silver bullets – oh and a stake or two… *vampire*.”

William was bordering on going for the attack regardless of circumstance as the ‘Slayer’ prickle aggravated his demon, but managed to shake off his game face instead and snarled “Back off you stupid bint!! Here to find our sister! Blanche – you’ve met… William from the coven… now get the bloody gun down!”

Ella paused for a moment and realised the conversation for what it was as a rather shocked looking pale young man advanced toward her with his hands out in an almost surrender position.

She lowered the gun but remained wary.

William lowered his tone but not his hands, “What happened? Where’s Blanche? Tall, slim, thirty somethin’ – You guys met at that ‘collaboration’ meeting three months ago. Friend of the dead one here. Did you see what…?”

Ella shook her head then looked back to the bloodied body of Lucy, saying sadly, “Didn’t get here in time to see most of it, but she was already dead… I know that… he was still ‘going’ but she was already out of pain. Didn’t see anyone else…”

Almost as though the wind had been taken out of her sails all at once, the seventeen year old slayer looked rather pleadingly at William. She felt his signature and knew the story (it was the coven’s least kept secret as far as the magical community went!) “What do we do now?”

With a nod to his Mate, Alexander left William to do the talking and began to comb the area for *any* signs of his older sister using every soldier and hyena memory and faculty at his disposal. 

There had obviously been a violent struggle with the scents of blood, broken twigs a japara half torn lying on the ground and the shredded remains of a woman’s cardigan. Alexander wished he didn’t recognise it. As his own fears began to mar the efficiency of his frantic search he felt William, instinctively knowing without looking that it was his Mate approaching.

William had convinced Ella to call the police – or rather one senior sergeant who was known to the coven. The deaths would be listed as murder/suicide and both bodies would be treated with respect. An autopsy would show that (apart from the gunshot that killed him) the murderer was suffering severe hormonal imbalance and abdominal haemorrhaging. It also showed signs of bite marks and torture, and an extremely high level of amphetamine possibly being used to quell symptoms caused by the internal changes that the coroner later reported, were quite capable of creating paranoia, delirium and violence even without drugs in the mix. Sadly the assailant (werewolf) was later identified as a young constable from Oxford who had gone missing almost six months previously whilst on a standard patrol. 

With no trace of where he had been or what had happened, his family was assured that he would have been virtually unaware of what he was doing and that the matter was put to rest.

Lucy’s great Aunt was her only family, and a wiccan. When she learned the truth of the attack, her only words were “Better dead than one of those *creatures*!”

With William at his back, Alexander followed the faintest sound of frantic panting and slight whimpers coming from a thicket of brambles. Despite fur and clothing being snagged, he pushed his way into the centre to find a terrified animal curled in on itself, shivering and obviously bleeding from somewhere on its underbelly. Hyena to the fore, Alexander growled then pushed himself to a position where he could nudge the injured form very gently. 

Pale blue eyes of a werewolf snapped open, and the weakened animal tried to snarl a warning. William felt the annoying sizzle of the moment the sun peeped over the horizon and the birds heralded in the dawn. And both he and Alexander gasped in horror as the figure before them changed. 

Seconds later William had a nude and bleeding Blanche wrapped in his great coat as her two brothers raced her back to the coven and the men tried to think of how to break the news to Charlotte and Trent.  
PART 12

The healers were on their way but the muddied, bitten condition of Blanche’s wounds called for something else until she was at least clean. She was bleeding too much to place in a bath or shower, yet something had to be done.

Charlotte was frantic but calmed a little as her still furry son, Alexander, put a calming hand on his mother’s shoulder as William lay their nude, bloodied sister on her own bed. “We can take care of this Mum – we really can…Let us do this… please.”

Charlotte hardly recognized the figure on the bed as her wonderful eldest. Blanche’s normally dark red tresses were matted and obscuring her pretty features; a steady flow of blood was oozing from her torso making a distressing deep crimson stain on a swiftly supplied wad of towels under her form; and her limbs remained in the same inert position as when she was placed gently down. 

Unable to answer Alexander, Charlotte simply nodded then collapsed into her partner’s arms as her favourite Billie… the now vampire William courtesy of a dimensional deal, fell into game face and began to lap the wound and surrounding area, cleaning it and adding his own healing and anaesthetic saliva to the area. At the same time his Mate, Alexander, bit his own wrist and dribbled blood into the lax mouth of his sister then massaged her throat until she swallowed. 

The coven healers arrived in time to witness, with a not too small measure of amazement, the area of a viscous bites to the woman’s torso, legs and right arm cleaned (despite the state of the rest of her) and already beginning to heal.

An exhausted family accepted the help of the other wiccans gratefully, the near spent William and Alexander included. Blanche was stitched, given a full gentle bed bath, dressed in a pretty nightgown and had two pints of whole blood administered.

William’s inner Spike desperately wanted to tell them not to bother with the gown… that the full moon was tonight also; that Blanche would no doubt heal as quickly as he or his Mate when in her changed state; that the bigger worry was controlling a newly changed Werewolf without a pack; that there may be a problem given her already magical heritage and training. But he chose to say nothing... or at least only to his Mate. Old memories informed him… even the coven knew there was no reversing the effects, but there was a way to ground Blanche and save her, after a fashion.

“Let us stay with her tonight Dad? Mum? Mistress Willow… please?”

Willow was (if Alexander listened to old memories) rather clinical about the whole thing and William twigged that it was not just the new werewolf that was at stake. The whole coven was under scrutiny, perhaps had been for some time… years even. 

He suppressed a growl then asked in his most cultured tones, “Mistress Willow… If I may venture, the young Slayer Ella was as much at risk as our two sisters (and vale Lucy) but Mistress, we need not chain or drug her. Let my Mate, her younger adoptive brother, and I give her back family and centre her.”

A Watcher’s council representative was already filming the exchange on the video camera on his phone and uploading the images so was incensed when the white haired Mistress, the most powerful witch in the first world, nodded her approval then added, “Let it be in private. Our sister deserves at least that, as do the other five of our coven member of our family who call her direct family.”

As the entourage of wiccans, observers and… well he really couldn’t be sure anymore!... William breathed a sigh of relief and caught his father with a knowing look. There might be many more nights of angst… but for now…

Trent encouraged Charlotte and they both kissed their damaged daughter on the forehead and then their boys… before leading a quietly crying Poppie back to the parental bedroom in the cottage. 

Sleeping in the familial bed was a privilege not lightly afforded their children but tonight, the youngest would be comforted. Spooned by parents and even at twenty one, Poppie was unbelievably glad to feel the strong arms of her father juxtaposed by the softness of her mother’s amble front. 

For Trent and Charlotte it would be a restless few hours of sleep, made just a little easier by Poppie’s presence.

……..

Blanche woke just after midday, slightly uncomfortable with itching skin, strangely thirsty and yearning for something that she could not quite articulate… Her mother and father were there looking extraordinarily worn and tired – as were several other of the coven who also appeared concerned. She was a little puzzled but had little time to evaluate the situation as she was enveloped in a relieved hug from both parents.

In the process of being stroked and reassured that ‘everything would be fine’, Blanche’s memories of the night before began to return. Her eyes went wide and a dry throat refused to cooperate, merely allowing a rasped, “Ohhhh?!!! Is Lucy…???”

William and Alexander had arrived just as Blanche attempted to communicate. The former levelling blue eyes that flashed yellow at Mistress Willow and in true Spike speak simply said, “Red… this is family… take yer crew and bugger off for a bit wouldya.” 

If the situation hadn’t been so worrying Willow would have smiled. William seemed always to edge closer to his inner/remembered Spike when things were dire. As she led the others out and glanced back to the touching scene of two men kneeling at Blanche’s bedside flanked by Poppie and parents, she couldn’t help but reflect – having the old Spike, just like the old Xander, merged with the new version, was perhaps not such a bad thing.

William gently pressed a water bottle to Blanche’s lips. She sipped a little then began to drink desperately. It was water but also tasted a little metallic and slightly salty. It tasted of strength and family and… something… primal, something that grounded her. Bottle finished she nodded at William and he grinned almost ferally, and she knew. Looking over to Alexander confirmed it. They had spiked her drink with their blood, but as memories mixed with internal feelings she scented the air, and in that moment knew. 

She coughed a little and was instantly aware of the excruciating pain across her side and through her belly then remembered clearly and realized the implications. She had been attacked, bitten. She would change with the moon every month. She was a changeling and just as her brothers were no longer fully human but might pass for the same, she too would have a secret to conceal and… worse… It suddenly dawned on her… she had little if any memory of anything after she escaped her attacker and into the bushes, but the flashes included things that might imply she had already changed once.

Blanche reached for her mother’s hand as Charlotte sat tentatively beside her daughter. “Lucy’s dead sweetie… She was… that is… it was too late… we… think it was quick…”

Blanche allowed all the horror of the night to flood in and when Trent sat beside his partner and said quietly, “Can you tell us anything about… what happened? Sweetie it’s OK if you can’t, but…”

Blanche took a deep breath, squeezed her mother’s hand again and began in a near whisper, “We were just… looking for the source of the magical trace… and then Lucy screamed and ran and I… He just appeared out of nowhere and tore and bit… and I fell, then Lucy screamed again and ran, so he turned after her… and all I could… I just crawled ‘cause it hurt so much… I thought he would come back… and I remember Lucy went quiet and there was blood… mine, and then… then I could smell…hers… and hear him… but I couldn’t…then there was a shot… and then William’s arms… and… now…”

“Now you are safe honey… you’re here, you’re with family and you’re safe…”

“But that’s just it Mum… You’re not safe are you. I’m not safe anymore… What if I hurt one of you… one of the coven… anyone! I’m a monster Mum… A Demon!”

William stepped forward, brought his own demon to the fore and growled “You and us too, Pet. And you’re still bloody well *family* and you’ll be surprised just how strong we lot can be when it comes to that. Little sis over there was likely to be more toadstool than flower before we sorted it.” 

Poppie had been looking upset but blushed then half giggled – she’d heard the stories of Illyria’s consort’s real form. 

“But tonight the full…”

William dropped his tone and answered as he placed a calming hand on his mother’s shoulder, “We’ll stay, Alex and me. Your demon’s new, and lycanthrope. Alexander carries a far older essence, and me… Master Vampire somewhere in here. We’ll keep you safe. And if you play up? Send ya to the dog house! Payback for when we were little and you were decided to play happy families and I got to be the pet!”

Blanche couldn’t help but note the wicked ‘little Billie’ grin that ended the dialogue and despite its seriousness, laughed then coughed then groaned in genuine pain.

Alexander stepped forward, “Mum, Dad… please... we’ll try to help her heal before tonight… and…”

Charlotte squeezed her daughter’s hand, “It’s OK sweetie, let the boys and the coven try a little more… We’ll be back before…”

“I know… just…” Blanche’s breath hitched as she held on for just a little too long, “Mum… Dad… I’m soooo…[hic] *sorry*! Tell Lucy’s OMa… I’m… Oh goddess!”

Trent stepped forward and kissed his daughter on the forehead. “We’re glad you are here… now let the boys tend you. We’ll be back.” He then led Poppie and Charlotte from the room. 

William looked to Blanche for permission to lift the bandages. The wounds were already raised, red and obviously healing, but William knew that faster was better and dropped into gameface away from Blanche’s gaze before slitting his own wrist open and dribbling the rich vampire blood over his sister’s wounds.

Blanche was near sleep again but arched a little as the cool liquid struck the deepest of her injuries stinging as the flesh was forced to accelerate the healing process.

Xander fell into his hyena guise and licked first his mate, then ever so gently over the wounds on his sister’s legs and right arm. It was enough. Blanche passed out, and the two found a place on the floor beside her bed and exchanged blood whilst in a tight, reassuring hug. Tonight they would need their Mated connection like never before.

True to their word, an hour and a half later, just before sunset and another full moon rising, Trent and Charlotte checked in on the three. Alexander was asleep on tucked tight against William’s shoulder. Blanche stirred a little as her parents stepped into the bedroom – she was a visibly healthier colour, but still strained then gave up any attempt to sit up as her torso muscles still tugged on healing wounds painfully.

Quiet words were exchanged then their parents left the room to Blanche, William, Alexander and a gift from the Mistress Willow, an ebony talisman on a gold chain. Longer term it would prevent the wolf from straying too far from the pack, but for tonight it simply needed to be attached, as the door would be locked from the outside and the external shutters on the windows likewise padlocked. The room was warded for good measure and sadly a tranquilizer gun stood beside Trent’s side of the familial bed.

Alexander and William kept vigil as the minutes ticked away and the room darkened. William fixed the talisman around a sleeping Blanche’s neck with the utmost of care, then sat back to wait again.

Finally the two felt the prickle of magic, Alexander’s fur sprouted instantly and canines dropped. William let his gameface emerge and gave his mate a yellow eyed knowing look and nod.

Blanche’s form writhed, whimpered and arched from the bed as her bones organs and skin altered. And after a painful minute or so, there was a spine chilling howl. Her new wolf was free, still injured, true, but well enough to endanger others were it let run free. 

Disorientation, fear and panic found her baring her teeth to her brothers. Their response was well planned and the effect absolute. 

With lightening speed William attacked, tumbling the newly changed werewolf from her all fours position on the bed to the floor in front of her other adoptive brother Alexander.

Hyena!Alexander bared his teeth, snarled and flew for her neck latching on with a bite that could kill but did not. Blanche immediately yielded, her wolf demon almost relieved to find a herself with what it interpreted as stronger members of her family pack. Both changed men growled as she rolled from her back to all fours on her front, head low, tail between her legs and her neck bared.

Her demon acknowledged William as powerful Master Vampire; her wolf, Alexander’s ancient Hyena spirit - demanding and primal; and oddly a tiny kernel of Blanche was still there and simply felt… brothers. There was little to do once the pecking order was established, her wolf calmed, and though she paced for a time, when Alexander growled, she quickly fell to the ground at his feet and waited for a reassuring grooming. It was provided easily, and shortly after Blanche’s wolf form stilled, the three, exhausted from the previous twenty four hours’ heartache and shock, moved to settle on the floor together. Blanche’s muzzle was tucked neatly under Xander’s furry neck and William spooned her from behind gently nuzzling hers whilst reaching for his mate. 

By morning the three were found in a comfortable pile of human(ish) flesh on the plush rug beside the wall heater in Blanche’s room by their relieved parents. All three happily playing the pack ‘game’ and prostrating themselves for a still concerned and now even more worried Trent and Charlotte, until the parents realized they were being played as William just couldn’t suppress a giggle, and Alexander burst out laughing but managed to blurt out, “Mum, Dad, we’re fine! Sorry… just playing… pack and all that… really we’re fine. We’re fine.” The two men earned a good natured slap for their trouble, but really didn’t mind.

The following night was moon free, and Blanche sobered as she admitted to her mother that she really did feel lucky – her ‘affliction’ only entailed a few nights a month whereas William and Alexander’s were ‘for always’. Her mother’s only response was, “But they were given each other… it is as it should have been in their previous lives… we have to hold onto that.”

Mistress Willow contacted an old friend via Email later that week. The ensuing phonecall was as informative as it wasn’t… Oz was now quite the ‘aging rocker’ but doing both things (aging and rocking) gracefully. Willow knew from his website that he was in fairly high demand a sessional player for various bands; and his home in Stuttgart, Germany had a fully equipped recording studio. She learned from the call that he had a ‘permanent friend’ who liked the wolf, and they had “enough money… so that’s… You?” 

In the end Oz agreed to pass on some ‘insider’ information to Blanche via Email, and sent a ‘hey’ to all who still remembered him. He also insisted that Blanche contact him direct as the following full moon approached – or ‘just come hang ’. And an aging Willow remembered just why her gender orientation was never an issue when it came to that particularly kind, blindingly intelligent, enigmatic boy come werewolf from her past.

A week later, early on a Sunday evening, the communal dinner found Willow bidding farewell to the coven members again, she would be gone almost a month, her lecturing commitments at other covens around Europe a regular part of her schedule these days. The Mistress smiled a little at the scene of Trent and Charlotte’s four adult children arm in arm, keeping up an easy banter that only siblings seemed to be able to do, making their way down the gravel driveway toward home.

It would have been so easy if that was the end of the trials for the family – and the boys in particular, but she now realized that Blanche’s change of status had been foretold, and simply brought them all one step closer to a far bigger challenge.  
PART 13

Despite the talisman and her brothers’ vigilance the following three months of changes did seem an extreme emotional trial for Blanche, until her mother realized. Blanche’s menstrual cycle had apparently aligned itself to the full moon with the week of her most fertile coinciding with her physical shifts causing havoc with her hormones, and a werewolf on heat *and* with PMS was something to be reckoned with! She could be violent or crying – either way certainly irrational – regardless of her physical state. And there was the problem of a wolf on heat – her scent drawing every canine for miles to the coven. 

In the end a desperate Charlotte rang Willow who was in Cardiff for the week, and the High Mistress arranged for Blanche to spend at least the ensuing month with Oz.

After only two weeks with Oz, Blanche seemed to find her stride. Her menstrual cycles altered to match several other females in the busy household-come-studio, and her wolf revelled in the presence of the *many* other musicians who were similarly affected by the moon and revelled in Oz’s strength and wisdom. Any bitten muso in Europe seemed to gravitate to the enigmatic wolf/rocker’s rather bohemian home at some point… and many returned repeatedly.

Unwilling to take a ‘free ride’ simply because the High Mistress was his friend, Blanche leant her hand to Oz’s partner ‘Tiff’ becoming more and more involved in the business side of the studio. Oz was no fool when it came to money and Tiff was equally astute, but both were still incredibly busy people so Blanche’s quietly enthusiastic, apparently effortless, expert assistance was very welcome, and her wiccan knowledge invaluable when it came to a couple of musicians with illnesses or afflictions of magical origin. 

Blanche rang home weekly, Charlotte and Trent thrilled to hear their eldest so very happy, and her brothers (and baby sister) all privy to her increasingly frequent mention of another – Tjun. He was apparently an accomplished percussionist and sometime piano player, also werewolf, and therefore ‘hung out’ with Oz on the nights of the full moon each month (as so many others did these days).

 

After the three months into her stay at Oz’s establishment, the handsome Indonesian musician and fellow werewolf, Tjun, and pretty English wiccan werewolf, Blanche, were formally partnered. In truth they had consummated their love in her first month with Oz initially in wolf form then as enamoured humans. Given Blanche’s previous disastrous long term relationship, her family were worried, but when the two arrived home at the coven for the first time as a couple, all concern evaporated. 

Blanche was all but radiant as she introduced the handsome tall male at the summer solstice party, and both were greeted enthusiastically, though William’s far older memories internally insisted ‘charming oriental’ as title for the new family member, though thankfully his inclination to use (the in-its-time somewhat inoffensive) said title was squashed.

The pair’s visit coincided with the full moon so all were ready for a family lock down, the talisman guaranteeing at least Blanche’s loyalty (and therefore not hurting of) family but were worried that Tjun was not so covered. They need not have worried. Charlotte and Trent watched with a measure of sadness as the camera in the bedroom recorded the two shift, but then were thrilled and amazed as the two changelings simply fed on the raw meat provided them, before bedding down together with Blanche curled up, spooned protectively by her near black partner. 

As William and Alexander checked on the two later in the night, it was the hyena senses that smelt it first on the sleeping wolves. The defensive loving behaviour should have been expected, their older sister was carrying Tjun’s children. 

 

Life at the coven continued on in the happy knowledge that Charlotte and Trent were to be grandparents, with Blanche and Tjun investigating the prospect of living and working ‘closer to home’. Oz and Tiff were more than happy to recommend a couple of studios that would benefit from the couple’s skills and the ‘Oz connection’ made it considerably easier to work in London should they wish it. In the end they took a small bungalow just outside Caversham. It was an easy run in to London but wasn’t really ‘in town’ and the Oxford Coven was very active and had a chapter in Reading who knew of Blanche – and their whole family really!

It was decided that Blanche and Tjun would be home for the birth – but their home was warded anyway and the level of magical protection afforded via a second talisman for Tjun guaranteed their safety during their nights with the moon.

Sadly it was during a visit to his older sister’s new home that Blanche first noticed the change in William and consequently said something to her mother.

Jovial enough on the surface and obviously deeply committed to his now mate Alexander, he had absented himself several times from the hustle and bustle of the household during the weekend visit, only to be found sitting smoking in morose silence behind an old pine tree at the base of Blanche’s garden.

Over the ensuing two months William’s vampire status seemed to be an escalating source of concern. For some reason he was suffering increasingly bad nightmares making sleep (day or night) an increasingly frightening and consequently elusive event. He appealed to his work and was allowed to write at home, and the coven recommended he and Alexander no longer patrol – or come to meetings. 

But the measures only seemed to cause William’s moods to become more and more extreme. He seemed to oscillate between utterly withdrawn and literally bouncing with pent up energy, between quiet and caring and utterly drunk… and there was something more… underpinning it all there a depth of sadness that no-one, not even his Mate, his partner in *this* life/unlife of but a few years, could quite fathom.

Charlotte tried to quietly broach the issue several times to no avail with the “I’m fine… really!” *not* fine son. She shared her concern with Trent and they resolved to ask for Willow’s help and advice when she returned at the end of the month. But the end of the month was too far away as that night, Alexander, in full hyena form, arrived at their door panicked and begging for help. 

William was on the roof of their ‘outhouse’ abode and could not be coaxed down, the risk not so much the near three storey drop, but rather the proximity of a number of trees with potentially fatal branches… and the fact that William had burned himself in various places with holy water (how/why he had procured that… Alexander had no idea) and was now slowly slicing his chest with a pocket knife. 

While a dressing gown clad Charlotte and William’s little sister Poppie tearfully begged the suicidal vampire to come down, Alexander climbed onto the roof of their shared abode and tackled the distracted William from behind with all the stealth of his inner soldier, letting the hyena have full control as he struck. He *bit* his Mate with a viciousness not previously present, and happily took the fall to the ground, tree free, with a painful “Umpfh” before one unhurt, very drunk vampire was cuffed and tied fast by Trent and two other coven members, and carried back to the family cottage. 

What ensued was an intervention of sorts. Trent and Charlotte’s adopted son, their beautiful, courageous vampire son, might never now die of liver poisoning - no matter his drunken habits of late, but he was well on the way to dusting for other reasons if something wasn’t done. His chest was still oozing blood from the crisscrossed lines scored deep by the knife, both arms had horrible trails of blistered (and in two spots even blackened) flesh, and Charlotte could see… hear… *feel* her son’s extreme distress 

Barely coherent, William seemed to be channelling his other lifetimes, other manifestations. They put Willow on speaker phone and recorded the rant as he paced the locked room in the presence of family.

“I dropped my board in the water and the chalk all ran… He shouldn’t have left – not without sayin’…” The sobbing William dropped to his knees in a corner and began to rock, “and then she…Bloody Prague! No… No!!” He bounced to his feet and grabbed a very frightened Charlotte’s arm. Her son looked through her and spoke at someone else, “Shhh Pet… Niblet’s fine with me…I lost me Mum too but then that… Oh!!! [hic] just not right, never… *right*!…” 

He pushed her away and faced the wall, stroking it, keened a little then half turned to the room, “P’raps maybe not meant to last this long ‘ey Pet something else… common… First’s bitch… Powers’ bitch… everyone’s… bitch…” 

Tears were now streaming down his face as he wrapped his arms around himself as though cold…”And what right do they have – oooh have a little more fun with him…Can’t touch, can’t affect anything… bloody sad ghost I turned out to be…” 

William punched the wall again and again, and this time it was a sobbing Alexander who ineffectually tried to stop the desperate vampire from hurting himself for the umpteenth time that night. 

William fought for a moment then turned in silent wonder said “I…” then collapsed to the ground so suddenly that his Mate had no hope of catching him. He hugged Alexander’s knees and began openly crying whilst trying to articulate, “I can hardly *live* with what I’ve done… it *burns*!!… She left me for a bloody Chaos demon you know?!... and you… then there was us and you… love you so much, so much Xan… Pfff … in the end loved that poncy *bastard* too… but he… he had to go for the dragon… had to take on a bloody dragon! Everyone leaves! Everyone leaves… N’ I‘m so weak… always so weak… would have died with him but he… and now…and I can’t… You don’t want me… can’t want me… not like this! I’m sorry! Only a fledge and… only a fledge!!! No Sire’s approval… Sire didn’t want me Never wanted me… always Daddy… always Dru… always… always… Please!” He pushed away from his Mate’s knees and in full vampire guise, began to tear at his own chest with iron hard nails, “Never me… don’t deserve… you could never! … Can’t do this while you’re looking!” then scrambled for the shadows.

The rant continued as he protested his desperate regret for crimes that in this life, he had not committed, and in another, had little control over, if he ever had done. 

William sobbed his painful remorse over every hurt he had caused his current family – both real and imagined, then cried with anguish at the belief that he had somehow injured Alexander given the pain he felt through their link. And after a half hour or so of sobbing, begged for the end to his own ‘damned’ existence before he hurt anyone further. 

Really there was no point trying to have dialogue, so Trent and two of the coven bound him close but gently with hand, feet, wrist, ankle, knees, plus blindfold and most sadly, soft latex mouthguard. The first time William bit down it took the impression and stayed, top and bottom. He could no longer bite himself or others.

In fact it made little difference as William curled up all but comatose, silent and obviously traumatised by demons they had no access to. Seven hours since the original report William lay bound, resting on his side in his mother’s lap as she rocked him like her small troubled Billy that he had so recently been. 

Trent had been there for both partner and child for most of the exchange, but ended up with a distraught Alexander in a tight, comforting embrace on the other side of the room by the time William passed out in Charlotte’s loving arms.

The whole evening would have been to no avail had William not whispered in an apparently lucid moment, just as he passed out, “Please help me… Can you help me? I need Sire. Where’s Sire?”  
PART 14

The game face was less frightening to Charlotte than the desperately needy tone and she recognized with complete clarity, that her son’s original demon’s memories were present, and though his magical power – due to unique circumstances – was immense; in essence, William was also still a fledgling vampire. 

A fledgling on the brink of self destruction, who’s Grandsire, his ‘Yoda’ was dust, Sire was probably so, as were all others of his line. And now had a demon inside him that was apparently slipping into insanity without the steady hand of a Sire *and* would take his Mate, his brother, their strong, gentle Alexander into oblivion with him if he was successful in dusting himself.

As her son slept off his night/day, she and Trent contacted Willow. Prophesy and apocalypse be damned, this was Charlotte’s sweet Billie. They had to *do* something! 

Willow’s returned the call late afternoon and confirmed what they all intuitively knew. William was indeed a fledgling vampire, but had all his Master Vampire’s memories – and, because of his history – his desperate disappointments and hurts. Reconciling the two was impossible without a Sire. Willow verbally kicking herself for not seeing it before… but he seemed to cope so well!

The High Mistress was unable to return home but advised the coven members to ward the home, sedate William and envelope him in a healing bubble that would at least take away his destructive memories and buy them some time. 

Alexander sat by his beautiful blonde partner’s still form. They were (at his mother’s insistence) in the cottage, not their own space, so had taken Blanche’s room temporarily. William looked so pale, small... ill, lying in his sister’s double bed. And in the three times Charlotte checked in the last hour, Alexander had been holding William’s inert hand and crying quietly. 

Charlotte knew her children, and knew when a mother’s strength was needed, but also when a father’s was better suited to the purpose. She sent Trent in and was pleased to see, on the next pass of the room, that father had slung his arm over Alexander’s shoulder and pulled him into a reassuring, silent, sideways hug as they kept vigil together at the bedside. 

With William’s collapse the mating link had fallen wide open and Alexander too was suffering, further adding to William’s distress. For weeks now William had he tried to shut down the link, but had no strength left to keep up the block, and also needed it so badly… needed his Mate…

In the end Alexander lay on the bed and simply held his vampire partner, his beloved, technically *dead*, adoptive brother in this life, his Mate, the wounded hero, a desperate being, now shackled and drugged for his own safety.

Without consciousness there was no use offering blood, and without blood, William was visibly fading, and as a direct consequence Alexander too was beyond eating… beyond crying, convinced his dearest brother, his Mate, his all, was about to dust and he would go with him. 

Alexander’s head ached and he accepted the drink bottle of water from a tearful Charlotte some time in the early morning but kept his vigil as William came to again and began to thrash against the restraints and begged to be let go... to find Sire… to “become worthy”.

Finally, an injection of enough tranquilizer to drop a rhinoceros saw him quiet, after which a catheter was inserted to administer the chemicals induce a constant coma. Alexander was led from the room by Trent as a feeding tube pressed down William’s throat to try to provide sustenance – breathing was fortunately not an issue but putting blood into his dead system was essential and blood stream not how the magical body worked.

Willow had been adamant – and now Charlotte saw it too. The critical thing was finding William a Sire. It mattered little as to whom since technically William’s maker this time around was Illyria, and the making was a magical one not related to a real Sire – but where did that leave them? 

 

William could not drink of Illyria, regardless if she graced them with her presence or not, her original demon blood was not that of a vampire. 

And blood exchange was the key. He could not take of his Mate Alexander since their connection was already as close as it could possibly be – and the hyena spirit would mean that William’s demon would reject him as Sire anyway – though not as Mate of course. 

It was Poppie who came up with the solution, though it was initially so terrifying that it was rejected out of hand, yet as coven and family’s appeals to Gaia brought no change over the ensuing four days and any attempts to feed William had become a pointless venture, there was a shift in opinion. 

Over the next three days, William lost an extraordinary amount of condition despite enough animal blood ingested. In the end more drugs were added since an induced coma seemed the only way to go, human or non human, there were few other options. 

After he fell into deep unconsciousness, they pushed replaced animal with human, bolstered by coven member and familial, blood through the feeding tube and into his stomach. The Mated status saw Alexander so distressed that there was little choice. They sedated him also, he all but begged for it.

Two days later, Trent and Charlotte stood behind their daughter as Poppie again appealed to a full gathering of the coven and (for the first time since Andrew had been Head Watcher) the Council. As a consequence *this* time she had a newly returned High Mistress Willow’s backing. 

William was giving up his existence *again* but this time it was not (as prophesised) for the greater good, rather it was a simple matter that the ‘Powers who screw you’ had forgotten a basic fact - a vampire Childe needed the blood of its Sire for at least the first five to ten years *just to survive*. A minion had no such need. Illyria had made William as he was – an Aurelian Childe with a Mate. Without swift help William would dust and Alexander die with him.

Poppie’s solution was as simple as it was dangerous. *Someone* had to absorb Illyria’s essence and return a tiny part of the demon to this realm. That person would then have to act as Sire. They would not be a demon – nor a vampire… but they would carry the necessary tracers to have William’s demon determine them as Sire. 

Sadly with Illyria as ‘Sire’ there was little chance of any mortal – or semi-mortal being (see above vampire) surviving were they to be fed her juices directly.

Trent was the obvious choice. He *was* William’s father in this manifestation and Sire in all but blood – and now that would simply shift a little (or a lot as Charlotte feared).

They needed Illyria’s permission and Trent was going to have to rely on the coven to magically shift his form to something that might accept and assimilate Illyria’s demon seed and power. Few at the coven had any idea what that might mean but also knew that if the prophesy were true, they would need William on their side. The plan was to have Willow call up the dimensional rift and work with Illyria from there.

On Trent’s return he would drain William to near dust, then feed him with Sire’s blood – blood that his demon recognized. This would need to be followed by feeding the Mate and finally a ceremony to have the demon formally accept its new Sire. 

 

The Mate Alexander was in his hyena form, now sedated in the bed beside his Mate as a grieving family presented the unconscious beautiful blonde to the coven elders and other magical beings/sympathisers entering the ‘sick room’. 

It was the first time any of the coven members had seen High Mistress cry. Tears were silent but prolific and all in the room were knocked from their feet as the magical energy flowing from her suddenly increased tenfold and she pulled from both the earth and all their life energies.

Illyria was called and answered. In a way it was her turn to pay back a ‘favour’ of sorts. The boys had already been given up their human lives as payment for countless others', assisting her to return to her former glory *and* then see the safe return for her lover… and as a consequence she had imbued them with their previous memories and natures since the human form was *so* flawed, but had not realised the Halfling would need her beyond the initial change. 

Willow was appropriately powerful in the magical human sense, and appropriately humble… and able to point out that there was a prophesy about to play out that threatened Illyria’s realm were she not to save this… William. 

Illyria communicated with the object of her desire – her universe, her everything – and a deal was struck. She tolerated, perhaps even liked the being who had assisted her in more than one realms; who had never treated her in any way than with awe and respect (although she would, in the proper circles, point out that in his sparring – which he was enslaved to do – was carried out with a little too much enthusiasm on occasion). Now this same being, important in the coming events of that realm, needed Illyria. He had been the one that had honoured her and displayed extraordinary loyalty to the beings around him – and whose ‘brother’ had willingly accompanied him as the shift to the dark loomed… A false sibling, now Mated lover made of quiet, unspoken affection, nay, deep love the same as her own for her Teirsch.

Illyria considered the coven’s plea and in the machinations of a temporary bizarre dimensional rift then made her choice. Indeed she could strengthen this ‘Sire’ – even after her beloved’s essence returned. 

While communications were still being had Trent collapsed, others caught him. It was only Willow who understood. 

The inert body convulsed violently for some five minutes, but then went quiet. He was not dead, just temporarily changed. His possessing being, an Old One, was strangely disturbed by the warmth of the body it had been placed in, but also reassured. Tiersch’s dear partner had a task and he satisfied that it was right to help, so remained calm. They were the rulers of their realm and had a responsibility, and therefore he would quietly occupy this fragile frame for what amounted to a blip in their immensely long lives whilst his Goddess Illyria assisted one of their champions to return to health. Tiersch would happily die for Illyria, die in agony to protect her needs be – but did not need to on this day.

The strange part was that the odd frame he was in was being tenderly held in a way that was never possible in his real form, and suddenly Tiersch, partner of the Old One Illyria, understood the fascination with this realm. Being move or be moved with such freedom was certainly odd, and strangely compelling. The creatures in this dimension were all underlings, of that he was certain… yet he did envy them the movement. He experimented and slowly turned his… head.

The arms around him tightened and he could hear a thud thud in the softness against his ear. It was strangely reassuring so he simply relaxed and enjoyed the ‘human’ moment. 

Charlotte held her lover as he slipped. As soon as the convulsions ceased, the coven physicians reported. He was alive, but with a different essence – as they had requested.

The human form of Trent was not ‘hollowed out’ as Illyria had done to Fred, nor as Tiersch had attempted with Poppie, but was on ‘exchange’. 

Charlotte held her dear Trent in a maternal embrace as his new essence took hold. She looked to Willow who stood at the edge of the rift and reached out to make contact with Illyria’s tentacles – confirmation of what was to be. 

It wasn’t just a dream… Trent really was fixed to the spot… tentacles caressed the lip of his head… or his body… he was no longer sure – how could one be if only a mere stalk and mushroom cap – it didn’t really constitute a body… did it? He had expected tentacles or a tail or scales but this?! He had eaten fried mushrooms for dinner less than a week ago – and now… well that would be cannibalism surely!

And how was he sentient? 

The tentacle did it again… it felt like Illyria and he were… making love… His entire cap was a sex organ. He tried not to be aroused… he loved Charlotte… there had never been but… Goddess that felt… He shivered, dropped spores which the tentacles seemed to vacuum up… 

Strangely attired multi armed individuals then approached - apparently priests - came and they too stroked him on *that lip* then sang his praises as other lesser beings arrived – apparently on a pilgrimage. From afar he realized that he had felt their faint presence and he seemed to ‘see’ them prostrating themselves fully and praying, then rising to crawl four paces forward only to do it all again. The most fortunate were allowed to come close enough to kneel under the shadow of his cap. They prayed to he and Illyria then licked up the few spores that had fallen with the extra stimulation from the priests and died in ecstasy. He struggling with the notion that their decaying bodies fed him, just as did the torrential downpour that later splashed off his scarlet shaded cap and fell at his stem to be absorbed.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been there but was relieved that he was always shaded, feeling somehow that full sun(s) might burn, but could still detect the dual sun’s positions and knew the Mistress would be back to adore and pamper his ‘lip at any opportunity. His needs were Illyria’s – his spores providing the ancient demon with a delicate aperitif imbued with the essence of Tiersch’s love and a powerful chemical that acted as both aphrodisiac and inducer of euphoria. Inevitably, after Illyria had eaten of Tiersch’s spores, the area where her massive tentacled being had resided oozed with her sticky spendings. 

It was symbiotic – he benefiting from the rich liquid that nourished and thrilled directly, sharing their demon essence and strengthening both ancients. Any extra of Illyria’s fluid simply dissolved the bodies of the lesser beings, making the soil around him richer and ever more satisfying. After every coupling the result was a shiver of energy as increasing spore production and ‘calling’ to Illyria, starting the cycle anew.

His human self felt he was betraying Charlotte – but at the same time there was no betrayal. He worried how many days he had stood like this, thought it might be six or… nine. It wasn’t painful – indeed he was stroked, worshipped(!) in the form that had tried to possess his daughter in their own dimension, but after several sun downs and many, many satisfying episodes of sporing, he did wish at times for at least… eyes, arms, and some means of ambulation. 

He began to wonder when he would eventually return to human form (Willow had always said time might move differently in other dimensions) and shivered a little at the prospect of spending the next hundred years with a permanent reddish cap and fat central connection to the ground. It was not all bad, this existence, but it wasn’t his, rather it was a means to an end. And so he gave in to natural responses and Illyria continued to spill her fluid for him to absorb after each of his shivered offerings. And the part that was still Trent held onto the thought that upon his return her ‘demon’ would be recognized by the fledgling vampire William, and ensure his family’s survival. And he was trying to think beyond that but… 

Goddess!!! There was that tentacle again… ambulation be damned! He shivered once more and dropped his spores in a shower of ecstasy. She conveyed her pleasure by vacuuming them up seconds before his stalk absorbed the flood of fluid she let spurt from her enormous form. This time the flavour was… He was still recovering his limited senses as his world went black and he woke in the arms of… his beautiful Charlotte. He was about to apologise but then she lifted him to her and kissed him soundly saying, “Oh my darling… there you are!” All he could say was... "I'm so sorry... but it was..."

The lovely Charlotte kissed her life partner and completed his sentence, "... the only way."

For Trent it had been seventeen double sundowns as Illyria's 'other'. But later he would learn that for Charlotte it was mere hours holding a form that she knew was no longer him, yet coddled and comforted the rather strange Tiersch as he too did his part and struggled with his human form.

Now all they both cared about was that essence he now carried in his system was enough for William’s demon to see him as Sire.  
…………………  
Part 15

The High Mistress Willow had collapsed exhausted and was helped to the lounge suite as the essences of Tiersch and Trent returned to their rightful owners and the dimensional rift sealed itself. The prophesy indicated that the rift may need to be opened one more time but for now the coven needed to focus on the fledgling vampire.

For his part Trent felt elated at once more finding himself human, and held by his adored Charlotte, but also felt slightly strange, detached from his form still. Intellectually he knew that the hands he now stared at in wonder were indeed his, but somehow they were not his. He worried a little that if someone asked he would introduce himself correctly but that it would somehow be a lie. He felt… he wished, but didn’t… and did… it had been strangely, a blissfully simple existence for the last seventeen sunrises.

He lay in Charlotte’s lap for a little longer then looked up into her worried blue eyes - eyes that spelt near desperate levels of fatigue and worry; eyes that were usually dancing with joy and love, but were now pained in a way that spelt grief; pretty eyes that he had stared into and adored for as long as he could remember… and now he remembered.

With Charlotte and Poppie’s help Trent moved to the ‘sick room’ a temporary hospital ward of sorts in Blanche’s old bedroom.

William was laid out, a corpse, slender to the point of emaciated after refusing to drink for so long, feeding tube giving some sustenance but not enough for a magical being. His demon had all but withdrawn, leaving… a dead body.

Alexander was curled up at his feet in full hyena guise, unable to comfort an unconscious Mate and sedated for his own safety, he too was drawn and thin, but also covered in a fine sheen of dappled fur and whimpered occasionally with his ‘other world’ voice in his sleep.

Willow was sent for and also helped into the room. She like the other coven members accompanying her felt it immediately. Trent was still human, but also carried the combined essence of two immensely powerful ‘Old Ones’, the original demons. His own being now had their seed, Willow worried a little as his eyes that should have been their usual pretty hazel, flashed a blinding aqua then red as his knee connected painfully with the corner of the bed by accident as he stood to greet her.

The White haired Willow indicated that they should all sit for a moment and ‘regroup’. Her head throbbed but she could see the desperate situation, and the need for more of her energy. 

The claiming by the new Sire would have to occur without intervention. The idea that it was within the Coven confines meant the wards around the cottage – and William in particular would have to come down, possibly for hours, so that his demon might establish itself… something that might involve killing.

Ella was contacted. The sympathetic and rather wonderful local slayer Ella had continued to keep contact with Blanche – even though technically the woman was now a demon. Blanche put her survival down to Ella, though the young Slayer would always argue she had been too slow. The two had struck up a firm friendship – not least of which included a mutual love of music… and musicians, Ella thrilled when she heard of Blanche’s impending ‘motherdom’.

Hence it was Blanche who had informed Ella of William’s plight and their struggle to save him. The Slayer had been extremely moved as she visited the Coven (at Blanche’s insistence) and witnessed the two unmoving forms of the brothers Blanche so adored. Men, after that night and all the ensuing conversations with Blanche online, Ella would happily accept as her Watchers were she given the chance, and *much* more preferable than her compulsory one – the pretentious ‘Dr David Clifton’ – a doctor of ‘wank’ according to… well anyone who knew him really! 

Overbearing, over stuffed with his own importance, and immensely under talented, even the lovely aging, now retired Watcher Andrew had sighed as she was assigned Doctor Clifton, and told her in confidence, “Chin up… Sure you’ll find your *true* Yoda one day… or just… Spike.” She had no idea what that meant at the time, but now somehow knew, as she took the desperate call from Blanche, that there *must* be some karmic connection. Were it necessary she would protect, not kill, a particular vampire.

For Trent to take the place of a Sire, he not only needed to dominate – but also to drain then ‘new’ vampire, and William had to be conscious for the event – indeed needed to consent to the surrogacy. The new demon had to submit, be drained then willingly take of his surrogate Sire’s blood.

As William’s medication began to wear off, he thrashed rather ineffectually against restraints that saw him physically and magically shackled to the bed, the wide leather straps also including one that fastened his chest to the bed, his mouthguard and a blindfold was meant to calm. But William was so far beyond calm as he came to, that the situation was swiftly a desperate one.

Alexander roused, given no choice as the Mating link fired with the same desperation he had felt the night William had attempted to end it all. The hyena saw the restraints and howled, the soldier remembered the warnings regards imprisonment, and old human memories had Alexander at William’s side trying to reassure and love and *stop* him… crying… Oh G#$%!!!! The only indication that he was even recognized was the frantic struggle then collapse before some minor panting around the mouthguard followed by a hitched sniff and dribble from his nose.

Neither parent moved as Alexander shifted to his dear Mate, his now dead adoptive brother’s, head and removed blindfold and mouthguard saying “Mum, Dad…. I… Oh G#@$!!! Will!!!!!” 

His Mate’s yellow eyes, ridges and fangs were all to the fore and as soon as Alexander pulled away the mouthguard come gag, there was a desperate scream that contained all William’s lifetimes of hurt and an immediate existence that no longer made sense without his Sire… “Kill Me!!!…. I can’t… Not wanted, not half good enough! Please! Pleeeeeease!” 

Then William suddenly went very quiet, fell out of game face and with tearfilled blue eyes stared into Alexander’s hyena tinged brown and hiccupped once, then mumbled out, “It was me… I was him… He said you’d do it… Just… Do it fast… OK?” 

Then time seemed to accelerate. Later they would reflect on the machinations of just how it happened. 

 

A weakened Trent, had been standing at the door as others moved to intervene in the desperate scene, but in a move that truly was as swift as a vampire, pushed all out of the way, succumbing to an instinct he had no control over. The Mate had his own teeth bared but was thrown growling, away from William.

Trent then slapped the young fledge hard and yelled “You have no right to destroy what is mine!!! Yield and be still. I am your Sire!” then leapt onto the bed and straddled the bound form. A wide eyed William in full game face again whimpered, and immediately turned his head exposing a mark left by Illyria’s tentacle and also seemed to be the marker for an older scar, presumably his previous incarnation’s turning mark.

Trent tore open the area relatively easily with a human bite that saw as much blood flowing into Trent’s mouth and being swallowed, as the flowed over his son and onto the bed. 

Trent found himself drinking slowly and at the same time instinctively lifting his arm to press a wrist to his son’s sharp fangs. It was all such a blur. 

Later he would remember it *really* hurt, but at the time all he felt was relief and joy that his Childe, had accepted him as Sire. They had all worried about just how Trent, as human, was supposed to bite and *drain* a body (vampiric fangs being *specifically* designed for said purpose). There was apparently no need for concern. Charlotte and two of the coven members restrained a whimpering Alexander as William’s became still and Trent was seen to push his wrist against the young vampire’s mouth.

 

All William tasted was love and family and Illyria, and something more… He floated but finally heard Sire calling him then felt the pain and blood flow. Sire wasn’t there but now a new Sire, family, had come to claim him, someone demanding to be recognized as Sire who tasted right, who dominated, whom he knew! Father … family! 

William’s demon rejoiced and for the first time since he and Alexander had returned from Poppie’s rescue mission, he felt completely at peace. Whole, settled, sure of himself and his place in the world… and… in that moment he unintentionally let the Mating link fall wide open and he could feel Alex… but his world was fast becoming black.

As Trent removed his mouth from the neck and his son fell away from his wrist with a sigh of “Sire”, both father and son fell unconscious.

Blood was still flowing from wounds and the coven members worked quickly to bind and stem the flow, undo William’s restraints and conducted numerous healing spells, but for Charlotte, Alexander and the family, the blood and the restraints were the least of their worries. They had no way of knowing, at that moment, whether William’s ailing young demon was satisfied, or whether the whole cycle of anguish had just been made worse.

The coven healers were on standby for the next two days. The first time Trent roused six hours after the bizarre incident, Charlotte was at the bedside with Alexander. 

‘Sire’ and vampire Childe had been left together on the bed. The bloodied mattress would be disposed of sometime later, for now it would serve the young vampire with the reassuring smell of blood and family.

Trent roused first and made a rasped plea to cut away the bandages for both he and William. The act, though done carefully caused pain and reopened wounds, but that in itself served a purpose. The previous night’s exchange was repeated, again with Trent dictating the proceedings as was vampire tradition. William came too as his new Sire pulled on his blood. Weakened but now understanding, his demon drank greedily of his Sire, felt the strength and the love, then another wrist was offered. Mate! His Mate was there and Sire was there and… William simply passed out mid suckle, his mouth going slack around Alexander’s wrist. Somehow Trent knew everything would be fine but still acknowledged the need to check them all and bind wounds, and this time insert a catheter for both Alexander and he, that their blood loss might be replenished. 

The process happened twice more in the ensuing twelve hours, each time William took more and more blood, and in the fourth feeding, only pulled away from his Mate when the hyena was forced to the fore growling and biting back – not in love but self defence. The day was saved when Mate’s form was replaced by Sire, and Trent’s strict “Childe!! Cease!...” Followed by the strict instruction “Yield!”.

Unable to prostrate itself or curl up, William’s demon so wonderfully full of Sire that he had been confused, but was now clear and did the only thing available to it, he bared his neck of William once more. This time it was simply bitten and held by his Sire – the wound still raw but not drawn upon. He felt his Mate return, trustingly push an arm against his mouth and *finally* he felt a shift in his magical existence, in his demon that he had never felt before.

His demon belonged. His demon was loved. His Sire was here. He would be obedient because he wished his Sire proud. He had a loving Mate. He had other family. He was fed. He would work tirelessly to make Sire proud and protect Mate… Everything else was a bonus.

And at that moment William felt Alexander, and Trent, then Mother and Poppie and Willow and … began to cry again, but this time it was with joy. His demon had a Sire, and he would need to work hard to make Sire proud, but he had not lost those who were his most important. His recent ‘madness’ had not lost… if anything, better found, his family.

That night, completely undrugged and unbound for the first time in almost three weeks, he walked rather unsteadily, supported by Alexander, back to their cottage. 

The blazing fire was a little unnecessary but welcoming – no doubt someone in the family had set that up. Sure enough Poppie descended from one of the lofts, said “Linen’s all new.” then nodded to the fridge as she silently absented herself.

They didn’t make it to the loft, William still shaky and the fire enticing. Alexander led his Mate to the old couch, gently stripped them both then lay back and let his own demon emerge to enjoy the moment.

William relaxed and enjoyed the feel of lying on a familiar strong chest, surrounded by smells he knew before feeling Alexander’s tears splash onto his arm, then the slight shift. He nuzzled the soft brown fur that was the hyena but when William attempted to move more, a strict low growl stopped him, and the two snuggled down together. 

Trent visited the boys’ cottage briefly in the early hours of the first morning. The door was never locked. 

His two boys were on the old couch in front of the fire intertwined and looking… content. William woke the second Sire entered the room but Trent merely hushed him, stroked his adopted son’s, now Childe’s, turning mark then quietly expressed his joy at having his sons present and happy by kissing Alexander lightly on the temple, then leaning over further and kissing William’s neck then one exquisitely chiselled cheek bone.

Charlotte had felt her partner in life leave their shared bed, and hugged him close on his return – she understood. He would continue to ‘spike’ William’s blood with his own and take a little of William’s. Always an attentive father, the idea that one visited the children was utterly natural, but Charlotte also felt the change in him. Her Trent, her beautiful strong male partner, with his grey dreadlocks and all the elegant signs of ageing, had also grown somehow through all this. A sense of immense age, and of power seemed to flow from him – not in the pretentious ‘worship me’ sense, but a typically Trent ‘take it or leave it’ wisdom of the ages way. This night would be one of many evenings that he would need to attend his Childe. Charlotte understood… and he knew she did.

And she accepted his offer as he rejoined her in bed. They made love slowly, passionately, drawing on decades of knowledge of the other, renewed adoration, and… contentment. Completion for both was followed by a happy sigh and oblivion in the arms of the other part of their whole.

The following day there was work to be done. Blanche and Tjun were due to visit and the room still needed attending to. Charlotte smiled as she recognized Ella on the lee end of the bloodied mattress (which was being replaced!). The young slayer grinned at the Mistress of the house, nodded knowingly at the outhouse cottage of the boys and said, “Was ready if ‘e’d done a runner, but bloody typical, just wanted ‘is lover for afters! All the good ones are gay…” She winked then hefted 'her end' of the bedding and kept walking. 

The mother in Charlotte made a mental note to give Ella a hug or three sometime soon.  
Part 16

Life for William, the fledgling, reverted to almost normal, his suicidal tendencies gone with the knowledge that ‘Sire was there’. And though he seemed to need to know that Trent was nearby on an almost constant basis, he also appeared to have boundless energy – to the point of needing to spar with as many coven members as could be bothered working out on any given afternoon and evening. 

The aging retired Watcher, Andrew was contacted (at one of his regular ‘haunts’ in the south of France accompanied this time by yet another pretty young would-be Watcher). He still had sway with the Council, Willow informed him of William’s needs and put a good argument as to the advantages for the Council of having Ella admitted to the Coven and training regularly with William, and a week later Andrew put a proposition to the Council. 

Consequently Ella’s not so loved Watcher was given a promotion - “Watcher-in-charge of Archives” at the newly founded headquarters in Brussels and Ella was given the unique position of being the first Slayer assigned directly to a coven.

 

Her Watcher could not have been more thrilled. Having hated field work since the very beginning, the now balding Dr Clifton had only lost four Slayers, and saw little need to hide the fact that he felt utterly demeaned by the role of guiding ‘yet another a fifteen year old whose parents did not even have the money to send her to a *decent* school!’ 

Following his move to Belgium, Dr Clifton would tell people for years that his original role was a mistake as he handed out his gilded card noting his ‘Expert Archivist’ role, oblivious to their knowing grins. His empire was the vault under the main library. His role somewhat redundant – given that all had been recorded digitally – but nevertheless, he was diligent, proud of his work and ‘important’.

When Ella arrived at the door of the Coven she was met by a black haired, black clad witch who introduced herself as ‘Raven’. Instincts made her naturally twitchy around werewolves, vampires, hyenas and… well a whole coven of powerful witches was just nasty – but she took a deep breath and said her piece (also deciding that if she did run, there was nothing in her backpack she *really* couldn’t leave – so could let it go in preference for speed were that necessary.) She took a moment then said as she had been instructed on the text message, “Emeritus Watcher, the deeply respected Andrew, has arranged that I be admitted to the Coven of High Mistress Willow and that I be protected and trained and be a hero with my friend in so much, Spike (?)”

Mistress Willow stifled a smile knowing full well that Andrew must have written the speech, but took the greeting with the reverence with which it was delivered. She admitted the youngster and calmly introducing her to her new colleagues and to Charlotte – and a very pregnant Blanche(!) whom she had met before. The young Slayer visibly relaxed, and that evening she actually thrilled in the experience of sparring with William, both as humans, then, for the first time she was challenged to ‘not hold back’ and was able to let her full power loose *in practice*. She let her demon free… and so did he. 

There were no weapons other than teeth, iron hard muscles, and speed beyond that a human eye might see. It was exhilarating for both combatants, made all the more pleasurable by the intrusion of the hyena Mate, Charlotte and the High Mistress. The three watched with satisfaction. Ella was strong but unskilled, her magical signature was that of a wiccan, as was William’s – and both were so much more. 

As the fighting progressed each took the upper hand at times and there was blood on both sides. But after an hour the intensity meant that instinct really was taking over consequently, as Poppie entered the room late in the session with Trent at her side, there was a problem. 

William in his demon form, launched himself at the human his demon interpreted that Sire had ‘brought for him’ as old memories were confused with new feelings. Sire had come in at the end of the sparring to feed them… “Fight, F#@$ or Feed!” That was it… Angelus had always done that… and now…

Trent saw the move and pushed Poppie behind him in an act that may very well have saved her life, given the speed of the attack.

Ella was on her way to intercepting but was tackled and held fast by a hyena spirit, Alexander. He had moved as swiftly as his Mate, and everyone was working on instinct, so there was no kind touches. 

She hit and bit him, and slammed the stake she had somehow found, into his leg – the only place she could reach – and he reciprocated by biting the shoulder of the offending arm until her grip faltered. Alexander was terrified that everything had gone terribly wrong but was too afraid to move as his body began to go into shock with blood loss, distressed messages from his Mate, and the adrenalin from the fight. 

Ella struggled as he held her fast but he still managed to push her head sideways and they both watched a scene that would not be forgotten by any present. 

Trent’s booming voice, so rarely used, bellowed “*Down boy*.” He had caught William mid flight, Sire's touch indicating instantly that 'taking' was not an option and then literally slapped the fledgling to the ground.

William fell hard and curled up on his knees, arms folded over his head, and after a few seconds of silence in the room, began to shake and whimper quietly.

Trent approached him. Again working on an instinct that was not his, he grabbed William roughly by the neck and pushed him hard to the ground, “She is human?”

William struggled, his face was pressed sideways and he was still in game face and tried to speak, “Yethhhfff!...” 

Trent shoved him again, and Charlotte gasped in horror. Trent had *never* rough handled *anyone*.

“Do you harm your own, halfling? Do you prey on the weak…?”

“I… did… maybe… I have… *Oh Sire Please*… *Please*… I tried… have tried… will try… just… I am trying, Nanny said that… bad… I am a bad man!”

Trent recognized the slip into other lives, but his *Childe* deserved so much more. 

He slapped his son so hard it sent him sprawling flat to the floor, then stood over him as William licked at the blood on his lip and rose on all fours. 

The new Sire demanded, “Show me your human face! You will not insult your family by showing the demon in this situation. Human face! *Now* boy!”

Charlotte had pulled Poppie away from the situation but could clearly see her partner’s true anguish at having to do this, she also, sadly, knew the reason as the horrific scene played out.

William shook his head but could not get the ridges and teeth to shift, so simply was crawling toward his father, his Sire, on his knees. “I… I… Oh Sire!!!” 

Trent followed instinct once more and grabbed William’s arm with a steely grip, lifted him and shook him a little. “Did you wait to smell her origins?”

The shaking had an effect and William’s pretty human face returned. “I… nnnn… I donnn…. Oh Sire!!! I would never… who?? Did I hurt…??”

“Did you *pause* *pre-attack* try to see if she were… *family*?”

“No Sire… I’m… sorry… Sire.”

“Did I give you permission to feed?”

“N…No Sire… I am sorry Sire. Please Sire! It will *never happen again*”

For some strange reason Trent paused and looked toward Mistress Willow who nodded to him indicating that Trent should trust his instinct, so he continued. 

“How will you guarantee that? I think that as your Sire I must punish your demon, *and* you will *not* feed again, for the coming two months, without asking express permission of your Sire. Understood?”

Trent was shocked by the words that seemed to come by themselves but knew that this was the ‘real deal’. He had never been one for making rules, but whatever he had imbued with the ooze of the Mistress Illyria or his other form’s spores had had an effect and as bizarre as it was, he knew William’s demon needed this.

“You have endangered your Sire and threatened others, so you *will* bear the punishment in front of your family. Now bare yourself and count!” 

William dropped his sweat pant and boxers enough to expose his backside and fell compliantly over his, now sitting, new Sire’s lap. Twelve strikes were administered – there was no secret number – just a whole lot of stinging open handed whacks – and really only the last hurt – but that was largely because Trent was so upset by the whole proceedings that his last one actually missed the round buttocks and struck William’s coccyx instead.

Punishment over… Father/Sire pulled his dear boy, his *human son* into his arms, and both cried and rocked. 

Alexander released Ella and flew to his mate’s side. 

Charlotte, Poppie, Blanche and Willow also moved to join father and son in a desperate, reassuring pile of familial … hugs. There was no fangs, no magic, no fur, no ‘other’ beings – just family. And in the end, Ella and three quarters of the coven had joined in the pile of hugs as well. 

William was eventually fed a small draft of his Sire’s blood then knelt silently, submissively, his Sire’s feet before Charlotte lifted him and a very human William struggled to meet his mother’s eyes.

“My darling, you have memories… and you have a new Sire… but – now you must heed me William(!) You are part of a bigger whole! You are ours, and you won’t hurt any of us – we know that. And you and Alexander are due to come to the coven’s solstice party tonight, so go and clean up OK?” And with that everyone dispersed. 

The incident was never repeated, nor was it ever mentioned and William’s life began to even out. Trent gave a little blood daily and spent time observing the fledge as he trained…. But the new Sire had, without a doubt, grounded their William into this dimension. 

.................

Less than four months later, a rather physically stressed Blanche paid another visit to the family home – this time for respite in the very last part of her pregnancy. Triplets were always going to be a challenge, her slim frame meaning that even at five months she had looked *heavily* pregnant. Now in her last trimester (in the non lunar parts of the month), the issues with her blood pressure were life threatening for mother and children. The irony being that her wolf form seemed absolutely suited to multiple births, so all blessed the fact that at least that gave *some* relief.

Blanche had been accompanied by her wonderful Tjun to London but he was due in Hammersmith for two weeks at a series of ‘gigs’, so she made for the coven and home. Now Blanche rejoined the family at the coven, mid lunar month and six weeks from the due date of the children. Strangely the affect of maternal lunar changes were undocumented.

Mere hours after the pregnant werewolf’s partner’s departure, Charlotte called the Mistress Willow, and Trent was on his knees holding his distressed daughter’s hand!

Extraordinary pain came in waves for Blanche. William could *hear* the heart beats from the room above and raced to report the same to his father, both mother and babies were in extreme distress. As the call was made to Willow, Blanche let out a very audible wolf like howl of pain. 

A mere two hours later, Blanche was in the local hospital’s maternity ward and one of Willow’s most trusted wiccan’s Janice(Blanche’s personal obstetrician) performed an emergency caesarean section, delivering three, five week premature, babies - two girls and a boy.

Tjun received the call from backstage. Andrew, the lead singer of Wolfmother, grabbed the base guitar from the distressed father just as they were about to take the stage, and ordered him home with an “Oz said this might happen”, before striding up the steps to the roar of the crowd. 

The following night an aging rocker with purple and black dreadlocks would take over the base, then swap with the regular backup guitarist to stun the audience with one of the most skilful, original guitar duals with lead guitarist (completely in Wolfmother style!) heard for years on the open stage. At the ‘after party’ that night, Oz passed on the news that Tjun was a father to three ‘pups’ to the cheers of the crew. 

The curly ‘afro’ of lead singer Andrew was seen to nod but was a little puzzled at the reference to puppies. One of the ‘roadies’ simply grinned knowingly, he was of Oz and Tjun’s kind, he always hoped for pups of his own one day.

A thrilled and terrified Tjun arrived at the coven home within hours of the call. 

Visibly shaking, he was ushered to the neo-natal unit of the hospital by his lovely partner’s father – who himself looked worried and very grey – and lay adoring eyes on his tiny children. 

They were *so* small and seemed to have tubes, and monitors everywhere!

The new father stood in shock. The thought that they might not survive was suddenly real despite the report from the nurses that ‘things were promising’. 

He managed to get out “Oh Goddess… they’re… are they… Ohh…", before he fell into Trent’s arms and the new grandfather saw a nod confirming they were welcome to visit Blanche. Trent all but carried the father of his grandchildren to see the new mother, his daughter, who so recently had sat on his knee and handed him a new piece of art from her year one class at school.. 

Trent was so glad to note his sons at the bedside, but even more, that his darling Charlotte, his tower of strength, was quietly evoking a prayer of healing as they entered the room.

Seeing Blanche so pale and non moving, Tjun could no longer contain his emotion and fell to his knees at the doorway in tears. She had risked everything for them, he knew that. Finally, encouraged and supported by Trent he stood and lightly kissed her forehead, nose then lips. Thanking her over and over for their children. Blanche smiled a little as she felt her partner, then sighed and fell asleep in the knowledge that he was there.

The next nine days were fraught with worry. The children were so very tiny… so very, very (!) tiny. They were natural human triplets but smaller than normal according to the records - an instant family born to a lovely couple. 

The nurses were wonderful, but to one (Lucy) who was ‘in the know,’ the three were a wonder. They were the first children to two changeling witch-werewolves in a thousand years. Mistress Willow also knew – as did most in the magical community, it was another ‘win’ for the family… but also another nail in the prophesy coffin. 

Despite the excellent survival rates of premature and multiple birth babies, the exhausted parents and family waited minute to minute as breathing and variable heart rates saw little bodies struggling to survive. Each minute was a blessing. Each time expressed milk was slowly sucked a wonder.

They were encouraged to name the children on the second day. All parents in the special care unit were advised to do so, the prospect of an unmarked grave was one no one wanted to even contemplate. So it was - Rosamund, Wendie and James. Their naming day would occur when they came home to the coven.

And so it was. After fifteen days of life and tiny forms hooked to various monitoring instruments, the new children were finally released into their parents’ care. The three tiny forms wrapped in purple, green and yellow baby blankets and small enough that they all fitted into a single baby carrier were taken home to their grandparents’ cottage at the coven. 

That night, William quietly absented himself at a time he would normally have been most active. 

Alexander found him on the roof in tears… again. Alexander understood and joined him, initially sitting quietly but eventually the two were wrapped around each other in a tight hug and understood his Mate’s upset. Once more, the human that was William had to face what he had become – and not of his own choice! William in *all* his manifestations would have been a *wonderful* partner and loving father… and now, it would still never be!

There was no sleep that night for the new parents and grandparents as they desperately tried to contact Willow (in Scotland) and Oz three days prior to their monthly change.

Oz (honorary uncle), arrived hours later – the advantages of friends in high places and private jets!. 

He reassured everyone and grinned then nodded at the white haired High Mistress and smiled as they 'examined' the children. As a consequence, Willow confirmed what Oz knew. The children were not at risk from their parents, their magical signature was unmistakable, indeed it was highly recommended that the children *did* remain with their parents for the coming evenings of change.

Nevertheless, William and Alexander were on standby, Blanche’s talisman was firmly in place, and Oz, Willow, Charlotte and Trent stood ready to step in if all else failed.

Blanche and Tjun chose to take their change as they had in all the months of her pregnancy - face to face. This time it was in Blanche’s double bed on a new matress in her room at the family home. For the first time, however, the babies were no longer safely ensconced within their mother’s body, but were human newborns in the open, between two wolf parents.

What no one expected was the first act of the changed wolf father as he rose and deliberately pushed three human babies with a furred muzzle. All on standby tensed, then realized what he was doing as he encouraged the three newborns to feed from the canine nipples of Blanche. 

They then watched stunned silence as the she-wolf tore off tiny soiled nappies as they fed, growled her pleasure, then thoroughly licked each in turn encouraging them to relieve themselves as needed. 

Intervention had been thwarted early on as Alexander, in his hyena form, growled a panicked “Leave them!” then stood protectively as all observed Tjun’s wolf form licking his partner then taking special care to lick each of his children in turn as the tiny forms continued to feed and finally fell asleep. 

Three hours later, the scene was repeated, but for one quite surprising difference. 

This time the children too, shifted form a little, and the more they fed, the more their tiny bodies became those of newborn wolf cubs. 

Their human snuffles and cries were soon replaced by the contented squeaks and high pitched growls of cubs and despite still human-like blue eyes, the three were most definitely wolf pups.

It was at once bizarre and thrilling, but by the third night, everyone in both family and coven were utterly relaxed and confident that the children were not only out of danger, but given their small size and early arrival, utterly advantaged by their unique situation. 

The morning after the full moon saw the family resting in human form with one slight one difference. Mother and Father were back to human form but the children retained observable, inch or so long, furry tails. Of course as they grew older the change back would be complete, but for now it was a reason to rejoice. 

Grandma Charlotte said nothing as she took over from exhausted parents and gently tucked the extra appendages neatly into nappies before quietly delivering the three back to their sleeping mother’s side.

After the first change, it was Oz who reassured the distressed extended family. He had his own 'pack', seven in their teens and the little three... it kept him young he claimed. Willow was teary as he tried to reassure desperate grandparents.

Each of the children, like their parents, would change with the monthly cycle. The three were part of a family pack, their magic was powerful and of unmistakeable pedigree. Whether with any of Oz’s pack, the Coven, or at home with family, the children would always feel their belonging at an instinctive level. 

Willow sent Oz an Email a month later. The thrill of the three little ones wobbling around and playing together in their wolf forms was wonderful, but the word ‘portent’ was front and central, and a full 'blue' moon on the night following the Email only made the family more nervous.

Part 17

Blanche was pregnant again and everyone in the family was ecstatic but for the fact that the new children had been conceived on the night of the winter solstice, a night which also happened to be a full lunar eclipse causing an amazing, red full moon. The pair had been visiting the coven with their beautiful three due to the solstice and had a joyful day of celebrations, then bore the change and enjoyed the evening of festivities in their wolf form. They were ‘child free’ when the earth’s shadow fell across the moon (courtesy of her mated brothers and a ‘called in’ favour), so she and Tjun coupled repeatedly around midnight under the shine of a deep red moon, their howls and growling heard by many at the coven.

That night William and Alexander had taken the three children out for their first real hunt in their wolf forms around nine o’clock. They were all advanced as humans at two and a half, but as wolves they were lanky teenagers and excited beyond belief to head out at speed to track Uncle Alex and to eventually return home satisfied that they had not only found their quarry, but had a significant harmless tussle that saw his ancient hyena spirit emerge before they subdued him then sprinted back home with William ever watchful by their sides. Eventually all three were brushed and petted, fed and bedded down on a large mattress in Will and Alex’s small home. They were promised a repeat of the activity when their next monthly change occurred.

That had been almost four months ago, and Blanche had been forced to remain at the coven as she struggled with her burgeoning belly and three little ones and one other major problem. She was pregnant with three again, but this time something of the magic of the moon on the night of conception had changed her ability to throw off her wolf form for more than a few daylight hours, even when no moon was to be seen, and as Blanche changed Tjun too took on his other form when around her.

Both she and Tjun had learned the art of changing ‘on command’ whilst in Oz’s establishment but neither expected that they would need it all month around – and certainly for Tjun, the need to change *into* the wolf seemed essential so he might simply be as one with his lovely wife. It did lead to the need for their first three children to be tended by grandparents and others. 

This time the gestation period of the babies seemed to match that of the wolf not human schedule which worried the medical fraternity at the coven, however Charlotte and Trent seemed to take it in their stride – particularly of an evening when, on several occasions, they had found the wolf pair lying on the floor next to the fire, together with Poppie or one of the boys… content to just have their fur stroked and relax. 

Their other children seemed none the wiser – for some odd reason all three were able to communicate and get comfortable regardless of their parents’ physical state. Their third birthday happened to be a full moon and the entire family and coven celebrated as William, in game face, and his Mate (who still carried the hyena spirit within), took off for a sprint around the property with the three, then returned to toast their nieces and nephew.

Blanche had been in wolf form for close to six weeks, and barely able to throw the change off for a month before that as her body demanded, and the night of her children’s birthday marked a time she knew was imminent. 

That moonlit night a very pregnant werewolf took herself into her old bedroom, lay on the floor and delivered three tiny children… again… but this time they were in their puppy form, not human, her mother Charlotte arrived minutes later, worried that Tjun was not present, but was nearly bowled over by the wolf as he sprinted to his wife’s side. Blanche licked them all and the little ones were suckling by the time Tjun arrived and padded up to his partner. She lay exhausted but raised her head momentarily and he nuzzled her chin, then proceeded to lick the newborns also. What surprised Charlotte (now in a casual embrace with Trent) was the response to the other children (also in wolf form courtesy of the moon). 

Tjun growled at them, stood and forced their submission, and protected the new brood. It would not be so in their human form, but the three understood, and as the moon waned, it was an oddly domestic scene. Tjun licked his wife then snuggled three very overtired three year olds down on the huge ‘plushy pet mat’ (their favourite spot in their grandparents’ home) and waited until they slept. 

The arrival of the full blood changelings, borne of a coupling on the red moon brought them yet another step closer to the prophesy, but for tonight Trent worried more for his exhausted wife, and the three newborns. Were they unable to change? Were they the white Beasts of Hell that were mentioned; or was that the other three; or could it be all six; or…?! There seemed to be no precedent to this event. 

Trent and Charlotte eventually left as three adolescent wolves, three newborns, and their parents relaxed into sleep. The older three curled together, Tjun protectively at the back of Blanche, and the three little ones snuffling themselves to sleep, two still on and one off Blanche’s bulging nipples.

Their brothers and sisters were alternatively attentive and dismissive of the three as all children tend to be, however they stuck to pack rules which meant that on ‘changeling’ nights they stood sentinel and growled at anyone approaching the family ‘enclosure’. 

It was apparent from the start that the new babies were only able to take human form in daytime, and even then the duration was rather unpredictable as they still seemed to take wolf form whilst sleeping or feeding. It led to a Alexander suggesting a high fence being erected around one of the coven outhouses. The outhouse was a former winter barn for animals and was renovated to accommodate the family as the Perspex wall was added to the existing stone one. 

Modelled on the walls built by private zoos it was dug in nearly two metres down and rose three high, curved inward, it was as aesthetically pleasing as it was functional. The ‘enclosure’ equated to a large backyard, play equipment, small plot for planting things, and other bits… a scratching tree, room to run and toys to ‘kill’. Just like any household there was a gate with lock – and their new abode was comfortable. The entire family spent their nights in the enclosure, while daytime it was often just the ‘pups’ and the older children. 

Rozamund (Roz), Wendie and James were being tutored (in short bursts of course) how to control their wolf and to Blanche’s delight the three were able to show off to their father their ability to change even without the moon.

Roz’s delighted near vampiric growl and baring of teeth was followed by her changing back and proudly announcing “Unca Will taught us that!”

But all in the family could see it… the quiet, attentive Unca Will was in trouble again but this time it was for a very real reason.

The ‘blood bank’, the out of date blood supply had suddenly, inexplicably, dried up, and his job at the newspaper was terminated “Due to cutbacks, very sorry”.

This was in addition to a cloud coming over his dear Mate at work. Apparently someone had leaked the information to the school board casting doubt on his gender preference, and although that was hardly a crime per se, it compromised his promotional prospects and most certainly put him ‘under suspicion’ (apparently gay male = promiscuous = sex offender = paedophile = should not be employed as a teacher!) There was actually no physical evidence of his and Will’s relationship, and certainly noone in the village would have seen even a friendly touch between the two beyond brotherly hijinks…

But then the connection was found…in the most unexpected and worrying place. Poppie, or rather Poppie’s new squeeze, a young accountant from town, who seemed nice but ‘felt odd’ according both Blanche, Tjun and the boys. They should have known. When they finally met him, he was proudly wearing his very stylish “Wolfram and Hart” corporate shirt to the arranged drinks with family and friends at the local pub. Cliffard (‘call me Cliff’) was an ‘up and commer’ and quite the charmer, in, and out of the office. He and Poppie had been in an on again off again romance for some time – as his eye strayed (as did his hands) frequently. 

His hands may have strayed, but his observations were on the money, at least as far as his company was concerned. He didn’t know why there was such an interest in Poppie’s brothers but seeing the two handsome men opposite, and noting a very surreptitious touch of the hand, made him as a few pointed questions and draw his own conclusions. Both brothers were gay, one of his bosses at W&H was definitely (if that thing on the drunken Halloween party was any indication) and probably had designs on one or other, or both. In any case he reported his suspicions.

With Alexander’s encouragement (couched as a Mate's permission) William sought out Trent, while the brunette found motherly comfort for the situation. The excitement of the new grandchildren and other matters were a little pre-occupying but the quiet, still shy William chose to quietly make his case and was so upset that even after drawing blood from his Sire, he struggled. 

“Sire, Dad… Oh Geez.” 

Even at twenty seven, the boy fell into his father’s welcoming arms. 

Trent simply held on and said, “We’ll get through this.” Pulled William to his feet and led him to the Blanche/Tjun family enclosure where (courtesy of a full moon and familial distress) and entire clan – plus the coven and Willow and Oz(!) all waited. 

It was no ordinary meeting. The wolves, two parents and six children (three still too small to truly look menacing) paced and growled; Alexander let out the Hyena; William was in game face and Willow plus two other wiccans let their eyes flow to the colour the earth mother felt appropriate… black.

It was significant that Willow began the meeting, but more, that Illyria arrived, in her human state to put the case for the old ones.

WIP - there will be a continuation soon!


End file.
